


Fallen Angel

by phantisma



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-29
Updated: 2012-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-13 02:52:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 43,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantisma/pseuds/phantisma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set mid season 3, Angel's slide into darkness takes a nasty turn, even as Wesley discovers its cause, and Angel disappears after torturing Wesley.  A year later, Angel is back, and this time Wesley is a changed man.  Wesley goes out hunting, aiming to finally fulfill the destiny his father demanded of him, only what he finds is neither the vampire he befriended, nor his evil alter ego, but a broken hero, his mind torn apart by torture far worse than anything he ever dished out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

The dark warehouse had once housed a booming import/export business, but the owner had died horribly when an antique urn had turned out to house the essence of a Phalark demon. It had taken the team days to contain it and slay it. By the time they had, the damage had been done and the building had lain idle ever since.

Well, not quite. There had been the incident that had left him with the scars on his arms and the less than perfect nose. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce took a deep breath of the sharp salt air and steadied his resolve. He was a changed man since that night. Torture at the hands of a man he had once admired had burned away the last of the bumbling incompetence he had inherited from a lifetime of berating and verbal abuse.

It wasn’t quite nightfall. A vague orange glow hung low over the horizon, even as banks of dark, ominous clouds gathered above him. He stood for a long time looking into the open maw of the door, then closed the car door. The cross bow was cocked and ready, the stake in his pocket felt heavy but he had come with a mission. Tonight it would finally end.

The irony wasn’t lost on him. Years ago the Watcher’s Council had sent him to kill Angel. He had found himself working for him instead. They became friends, and no one would ever believe all that they went through over the course of the time they spent together. It had been Wesley’s first rebellion, his first taste of freedom. A year ago the Council had tried to woo him back, and he had fought them for his friend’s soul. 

He hadn’t been fast enough, strong enough. Angel was gone, first into the darkness of his demon self, then into the darkness of the Los Angeles night, and they couldn’t find him. For a year they had searched, but nothing. Nothing until Anna had told him this morning that Angel was back and where to find him. Now it fell to him to do what he couldn’t do when he’d first come to LA.

His boots crunched on the scattered debris as he moved into the warehouse. Lightening flashed across the sky and he jumped, chiding himself for his foolishness and adjusting his grip on the crossbow. 

The rain was thunderous as the heavens opened and spilled its cargo on the tin roof of the building. Wesley stepped cautiously, remembering the hole that he had twisted his ankle in the last time. Holes in the roof let in the torrent from outside, while thunder shook the ground. Memories hung in the dark corners and threatened to strip him of his strength. He could almost feel the spikes, white hot and smoking, as Angel pushed them into his skin.

Wesley stopped walking and closed his eyes, shaking his head to rid it of the memory. It wouldn’t do to give in to those thoughts. It would only cause him to stumble again. Angel was here, he could feel him, though he wasn’t certain if it was the memory he felt or the actual presence of the vampire.

His footsteps echoed on the wet floor of the mostly empty building. Large pieces of abandoned equipment loomed in the shadows like prehistoric monsters awaiting the right resurrection spell to bring them to life. Rain dripped in from the ruined roof above and the smell of the ocean was strong.

A movement off to his right caught his eye and he turned. There, behind those broken pallets. Wesley moved, lowering the flashlight to let his eyes adjust. Angel would only be drawn by the light and Wesley couldn’t give him any advantages this time. His trust in Angel had hampered him then, his belief that Angel could best the magic that had been surreptitiously thrust upon him mistaken. Angel had used that to trap him. 

An old office with broken windows and no door came into view, hovering in the darkness. Wesley thought he heard something moving as he stepped closer, raising the crossbow. As he stepped across the threshold into the office, he stopped, caught staring at his prey.

It was certainly Angel, but the vampire was a mere shadow of his former self. Gaunt to the point of pain, he sat in the dirty water pouring in through the open roof above him, his arms wrapped around his rag-covered legs. Long hair hung down to hide his face as he rocked back and forth in the deluge.

Wesley held the crossbow leveled at him for a long moment before he realized that Angel scarcely knew he was there. He had come thinking he was ready for anything. Anger, rage, snarky banter, fight and flight, these Wesley had come ready for. He had known Angel and Angelus, the good and the bad, the moody, the evil. Never this. It gave him pause. He could never be ready for this.

Hesitantly he lowered the crossbow and took a step forward. “Angel?”

His head shot up, his face showing fear and pain as his eyes opened wide, then he turned away, burying his head in his knees. “No, no, no, no.”

This was not what Wesley had expected. He cleared his throat and lifted the flashlight, shining it at Angel’s feet. The vampire retreated, pulling his limbs out of the light and shrieking. Wesley took another hesitant step forward, and Angel’s body jerked at the sound of his shoes on the debris strewn floor. That familiar face turned toward him briefly with a choked sound Wesley couldn’t interpret. His resolve was swiftly retreating as Angel’s despair washed over him.

Wesley tried raising the flashlight to get a better look at the vampire, but Angel withdrew again, his body shaking as he huddled into a ball well out of arm’s reach. A part of Wesley was warning him this was a ruse, but as he watched the man who had been his friend, he knew it wasn’t. Gently, Wesley set the crossbow on the floor, carefully turning it away from Angel. He stepped closer again, but regretted it when Angel cringed and rolled further into himself.

“Angel?” he said again, this time dropping his voice to a soft tone. Angel shook, his long hair dripping with the rain coming in around him. Hesitantly Wesley took one last step, then hunched down. “Angel?”

This time he was rewarded with Angel’s face again, rising up from the protective circle of his arms. His face was gaunt, dirty, streaked with rain or tears and for a long moment he looked at Wesley with little comprehension.

This was so far from what Wesley had expected. He didn’t know what to do or how to respond to this. He had come wanting to hurt Angel, but someone, or something, had clearly beaten him to that. Keeping his eyes on the cowering vampire, Wesley fumbled in his coat pocket for his phone, then held it undecided in his hand. He should call Cordelia and Gunn to help him, but they didn’t know…he hadn’t told them he was coming to do this. He had wanted to just end it quietly, with as little fuss as possible.

Cordelia wouldn’t understand. She’d been hurt by Angel’s betrayal, maybe more than Wesley, though in different ways. Gunn would come in with stakes drawn and keeping him from killing Angel would be difficult. Wesley shook his head. Maybe he should stake Angel himself. That was why he’d come after all. Damn he hated how he reverted so easily to the indecisive twit he had been before. He took a deep breath and steadied himself.

“W-w-wesley?” Angel’s voice, higher pitched and weaker than Wesley could ever remember hearing it, cut through his thoughts and sent them scattering into the wind. His whisper was filled with pain, guilt, sorrow…an ache that made Wesley reach out to him instinctively. 

Angel’s eyes caught on the stake protruding from Wesley’s pocket as he squatted in front of him and he pulled away, scrambling back to the wall behind him. Wesley shook his head and pulled the stake from his pocket, setting it on the floor, followed by the flashlight. Warning thoughts yelled at him to stay armed, that unarmed he was no match for the vampire, but he pushed forward, stepping lightly into the darker shadows, showing his empty hands to Angel.

“No more stake. Not today,” he said softly, sinking slowly to one knee just an arm’s reach from Angel. He could see the shoulders shaking, could just make out the sound of sobs. “Angel?”

He chanced a hand out to touch him, and felt the vampire stiffen. “I won’t hurt you.” He shifted so that he was sitting, thinking he might be less threatening that way. He had no idea what had happened, and as much as he had cause to hate Angel, the sight of him in this condition tugged at every affection he had ever harbored for him as a friend. “Angel?”

“You should.”

The words were muffled by the arms and legs that hid Angel’s face and wrapped in between shuddering sobs. As softly as he could manage, Wesley asked, “Should what Angel?”

Angel’s face came up. He wouldn’t look at Wesley. “Hurt.” Wesley could see the tears now. It struck him in the gut. He had seen Angel angry, in pain, lonely, beat up, even frightened, but he had never seen Angel broken. “Hurt me.” Wesley could see it in the dark eyes, the Angel that he had known was shattered. Something inside Wesley melted as Angel collapsed back on himself. 

The touch on Angel’s hand became a hand, slowly rubbing the wet, cold sleeve of Angel’s dirty shirt…that became another hand, slowly doing the same on his back…that became an arm, slowly circling the vampire’s shaking form and drawing him close into the warmth of his chest.

This seemed to bring back the sobbing, and for a time they sat, Wesley’s arms wrapped around Angel’s shaking, sobbing form, the rain slowly drenching them both. When the sobbing had at last stilled and Angel seemed to have calmed, Wesley put a hand on his cheek and drew his face up where he could see into the dark eyes. What he saw there shook him, but to his credit, he didn’t let it show. Now wasn’t the time for sissies. “We should get someplace dry,” he said softly. “Can you stand?”

Angel didn’t respond, didn’t move, but neither did he regress to sobbing and cringing as Wesley got his own feet underneath him and pulled Angel up with him. “Good,” Wesley murmured, in part to hide his astonishment at the lightness of Angel’s body.

 

It was a trick getting the uncooperative, but still not protesting vampire up the stairs and into Wesley’s apartment, much less stripped out of his wet, filthy clothes and settled into the bed, but he managed. He wasn’t sure what else to do though. Angel seemed to melt into the pillows and sleep. Wesley nodded, though to who or about what, he wasn’t sure.

With a heavy sigh, he left the bedroom, closing the door behind him and heading off for a hot shower to shake off the chill that had settled into his bones. He stood beneath the steaming water until it started to cool, then wrapped himself in a warm towel. In the bedroom he tried to dress without waking Angel, his eyes catching on the scar on his chest where the metal spike had been lodged in a rib. It had been the blow that nearly killed him, the one that sparked his survival instinct and left him lying in hospital for weeks. Over his shoulder, he could see Angel behind him, and in his mind’s eye he could see him as he was that night.

Wesley hung his head and closed his eyes, breathing slowly and searching for the balance that would let him move on. After a long moment, he pulled a t-shirt on to hide the scars and left the bedroom to call his friends, and make some coffee.  
Two hours later, just past sun up, Gunn and Cordelia were in his living room. Their anger was tangible, and Wesley wouldn’t deny them their right to it.

“This is the vampire that tortured you, Wesley!” Cordelia said, her hands flying around her. “Remember, with the whole torture thing? You nearly died.”

“I remember.” Wesley said softly. How could he make them understand when they hadn’t seen him, hadn’t heard the pain in his voice, seen the terror in his eyes.

“And that was with his soul.” Gunn added. “You should have told us he was back.”

Wesley nodded. “You are right, Charles. I did only find out yesterday morning. But, I should have told you what I was about. I apologize.”

“Damn straight I’m right. We should stake him now before he wakes up to figure it out.”

Wesley stepped between Gunn and the bedroom door. “This is my house, Charles. Angel is my guest, for the moment. There will be no staking of my guests in my house.”

“This is wrong. Just wrong. He’s going to wake up and remember what he was doing when he left and then with the killing and the torture. I did mention the torture, right?” Cordelia’s words were harsh, but they belied the fear and uncertainty Wesley could see in her eyes. Angel had used her to get to Wesley, had forced her to watch him slowly abuse Wesley’s body with dreadful promises to play with her when he was done with Wesley.

Wesley wasn’t sure what he’d expected when he’d called them. They of course had a right to know, and every right to their anger and fear. “Cordelia, I—if you had seen him—“

“I’d have staked him where he stood.” Gunn said, crossing his arms.

“He wasn’t exactly standing.” Wesley responded. “He was…huddled…he was crying, shaking…he didn’t know who I was at first…he wanted me to hurt him.”

“Sounding pretty good to me.”

“Charles, please. He was so…broken…” Wesley adjusted his glasses, then took them off to clean the lenses for about the fourth time in the last half hour.

“So don’t hurt him. Just stake his sorry ass and get it over with.”

“Not until we know what happened.”

“What?” Both Gunn and Cordy turned to Wesley in unison.

“Something clearly happened. I explained about the spell, why this wasn’t entirely his fault. I tried, I mean, before—I tried to counter it. It didn’t work, or didn’t seem to. When he left us he was not himself, nor is he the Angel we have known now. He really is broken…and I can’t—not until I know.”

Cordy let out an explosive breath and grabbed her purse. “Fine, play demon nursemaid. I’m going shopping, since we apparently aren’t working today. But if he kills you, don’t expect me to not say I told you so.”

Before Wesley could say another word, she was gone, leaving the door open behind her. Gunn seemed undecided about leaving or staying. Finally, he jutted his chin toward the bedroom door. “Can I see him?”

“What do you expect to see, Charles?”

“I don’t know, whatever it is you’re seeing?”

“Go home Gunn. Take care of Fred and the baby. I’ll call you when he’s ready for visitors.”

Gunn nodded slowly. “Call me if he gets out of hand. And don’t hesitate to stake him.”

Wesley smiled slightly and nodded as he walked Gunn to the door. “Yes Charles.”

“Keep that stake handy.”

“I will, I promise.”

Wesley sighed as he closed the door behind him. The stake Charles had referred to was still in his hand. He shook his head and tossed it on the couch. He hadn’t slept, or eaten. He hadn’t yet figured out what to do with Angel, or what his actions would mean in the long run. No, that wasn’t right, he’d thought about it, but all he could see when he did was that look on Angel’s face, the anguish in his eyes…and the knowledge that whatever Angel had been through was his fault.

This wasn’t the confident, if brooding, demon he had always known. There was no playful banter to erect a façade to hide the guilty conscience over lifetimes of evil, no bravado and witty repartee to ease the fear in his companions, no silent, solid action to end the conversation. There was only the raw brokenness of a former hero, held together by the skin that by all rights should have been dust centuries before.

Wesley ran a hand over his face, and across the stubble that reminded him he hadn’t shaved. He wasn’t dressed properly either, having pulled on the first clothes that had come from his hand as he rummaged the dresser, trying not to wake his patient. His bare feet seemed odd too, staring up at him from the beige carpet.

So much had changed in the time Angel had been gone. The three piece suits and highly polished shoes had given way to a more casual business dress code that more often than not included denim and leather and boots. The indecision had been replaced with strength, the doubt with confidence, the weak, simpering Watcher he had been when he first met Angel had become a leader, a man in charge of a growing agency that was really beginning to make a difference in the city’s underworld. Even the Watcher’s council had begun to take notice.

The Watcher’s Council. Wesley cursed and looked up at the clock. His father’s plane was likely already on its final approach. It was already after eight. Wesley had to be at the office when he arrived. If he didn’t—no, Wesley wouldn’t let that happen. His father simply could not be allowed into the apartment, not with Angel in his bed. In his bed. His father would never understand that. The implications alone…

Cursing more, Wesley let himself back into the bedroom and fumbled around in the closet without turning on the light. His eyes darted over the vague form of Angel beneath the comforter on the bed. He couldn’t just leave him—but what choice did he have? Wesley cussed more, pulling pressed pants from a hanger. He hated falling into his old indecisive nature.

He heard movement and turned. Angel’s eyes were on him, watching his movements. “Angel—I—“ Wesley didn’t know what else to say, so he stopped and pulled on the primly pressed pants. He moved closer to the bed as he buttoned them. Angel moved away from him, but only a little. Wesley took it as a good sign and sat gingerly on the bed, as far from Angel as he could be. “It’s all right Angel No one is going to hurt you here.”

Angel’s tormented eyes met his only briefly, then turned away. He seemed to dissolve into the bed sheets. “I have to go out for a little while. To the office. You’ll be safe here.” Wesley rose to continue dressing. Angel made some noise, painful, mournful. It brought Wesley back to the side of the bed. “I’ll bring some blood home for you. You will be safe, I promise.”

He couldn’t tell if Angel believed him, if he’d even heard him. Already he was falling back into the unconscious state he’d been in since Wesley had gotten him into the bed. For a long moment, Wesley hovered there uncertain; afraid to leave Angel alone, afraid to have Angel in his home, afraid that he was reverting to old habits just when his father had taken notice of the new ones. With a quick exhale, Wesley let it all go, shrugging into a jacket that he knew his father wouldn’t approve of and slipping his feet into his boots. A glance at the clock as he grabbed his keys said he might just make it to the office before his father, if he ran every red light between his apartment and the office.

 

 

Wesley had carefully constructed his office and his appearance to a fine balance between the things that his father would disapprove of and respect. His office looked the part of any of the upper Watcher Council’s gentlemen, dark wood paneling, accented by bookshelves and artifacts from around the world. The desk had been one of Cordelia’s finds, bought at an estate sale for less than a hundred dollars and refurbished to an impressive finish.

The effect would likely be lost on his father, but Wesley relished the notion that this time it would be his turn on the other side of that desk. He had conceded to a dress shirt this morning, but no tie and the dress slacks were blue, not black as his father preferred. The jacket was not a suit jacket, but a sports jacket, and that would not be lost on his father.

Wesley knew his father had beat him when he saw the limo in front of the office. He pulled into his parking spot and gathered himself, taking a moment to breathe and grab his courage in both hands before getting out. Roger Wyndham-Price was just taking a seat on the lobby couch when Wesley swept into the room, glancing at his father, then ignoring him to go directly to his secretary. “Good morning, Anna.”

He took the stack of messages she handed to him, very aware that the other man had returned to standing, and was waiting to be acknowledged. “Good morning, Sir.” Anna responded, smiling discretely to encourage him. “I trust all went well last evening?”

Wesley nodded tightly. He didn’t want to think about that now, but it had been her information that had led him to Angel. “Hold my calls, Anna. Gunn and Cordelia won’t be in today, they’re taking personal days. Reschedule my one o’clock to tomorrow.”

“Your nine o’clock is here,” she said, all professional, despite the smirk that told Wesley that he knew she was taking her cue from his behavior.

Wesley winked at her and turned finally to face his father. After a long pause, Wesley held out his hand, half expecting his father to refuse it. The hesitation was only brief, but his father’s hand was as cold as he remembered.

“Good morning. I trust your flight was good?” Wesley didn’t wait for his father to answer, turning back to Anna. “Anna, could you send a thank you note to the boys there may be a new nest of Muraki’s over on Loveridge.”

The older man cleared his throat and Wesley turned to smile at him. “Yes, shall we visit in my office, Father?” Wesley moved at a brisk pace, opening his office and moving quickly to his desk. Anna had recently been in the room, a steaming cup of coffee sat beside his collection of daily papers. Wesley removed his jacket and sat, instantly picking up the coffee to sip at while he gestured for his father to sit down. Almost before the elder Wyndham-Price had sat, Anna appeared with a tea service. Wesley could tell from the scent that it was a choice his father would approve of.

Somehow managing to be unobtrusive and yet obvious at once, Anna poured tea and handed it to the visiting Watcher, already prepared as he would like it. Wesley hid a smile behind his coffee cup as his father stared after her. Days like this it really paid to have a psychic for a secretary.

“So, Father…what brings you to California?” Wesley asked when the silence had grown long and heavy. He held his outer façade of calm, despite the erratic desires pummeling through his brain. Years of this man berating him and belittling him had made Wesley into a cowed man, trained to do as he was told without question, forced to believe he was incompetent and good for nothing.

But Wesley was no longer a man to be cowed that easily. Too much had happened in the years he had spent away from home. He had survived it all, better than that in fact. He had thrived.

“Your mother sends her greetings.” His father finally responded, his eyes darting around the room, glancing disdainfully over the diploma, the commendations and other obvious signs of his son’s success. “And the council as well.”

Wesley nodded. He was so not in the mood for idle banter, particularly with a partner who was so poor at it. He cut directly into it. “So, you’re here at their bidding?” He knew the choice of words would prickle Roger.

Indeed, Roger’s eyes snapped sharply back to Wesley, then continued their perusal of his office. “They seem to think that there is a point to your flailing about here. Despite my misgivings, they are interested in the work you are doing, you and your little band of ruffians.”

Wesley refused to let himself be riled. “Those ruffians are my friends, Father, and together they have averted major disaster more times than the Watcher Council can count.”

Roger shrugged. “Be that as it may, they have no training, no finesse. They don’t follow orders, they—“ Roger caught himself and shook his head. “Still, there are results to consider, and you do seem to have finally rid us of that cocky little vampire you used to work for.”

Wesley smiled, but it held little mirth. “That cocky little vampire was also my friend, at least until your council friends messed with his head.” His father looked surprised, and Wesley relished it. “Yes, father. I figured out what you did. It was, after all, a spell I crafted, did you honestly think that I wouldn’t?”

Roger seemed angered, and he bristled. “What does it matter? You finally did what you were sent here to do and Angelus is no more.”

Wesley took a sip from his coffee. He might have preferred tea on any other day, but it was one more thing that would disturb his father. He let the pause hang on the air for a moment before he spoke again. “Actually, we don’t know that. He disappeared. As far as we know, he’s still alive, actually.”

This seemed to give the older man pause. Wesley watched a battle raging in his father’s eyes, and watched the side of the man who was his father triumph over the part of him that was a Watcher. “You, boy, are far too trusting in that…thing. What good is a soul when there is a demon living in it? That spell only revealed his true self.”

Wesley finally turned to look at his father full on. His eyes were like cold steel as he made sure his father saw them. “When that soul has led its owner to throw himself between this world and every threatening apocalypse for the last ten years, saved more lives than I can count and vanquished more evil than the entire Watcher’s council combined has ever even known existed, I’d say the good in that soul is pretty damn amazing, sir. That spell was designed to remove the natural inhibitions that keep us bound to our conscience. What you did was remove his ability to be himself.”

Roger had gone white in the face and Wesley’s heart was racing. He had never spoken to the man this way before. “I was 16 when I crafted it, and even then I realized that it would not make me free, only a different kind of prisoner.”

“Prisoner?” Roger was clearly furious, and stood. “You were hardly a prisoner, boy.”

Wesley smiled again. Seeing his father like this somehow released him of the anger. “You will never understand, sir. I won’t bother explaining it.”

“I don’t know why I bothered.” Roger said, adjusting his coat and moving toward the door. He paused and glanced around the room, then back to his son, his face a mask of contempt. “You can dress it up all you like boy, but I know you. Your secretary knows where to find me when you’re ready to converse like a gentleman. The council has an offer to discuss. I suggest you dress appropriately when you come to see me.”

Wesley watched him go, exhaling slowly. He was sweating, and his hands were shaking, but he had to admit to enjoying the discomfort he had just given his father. He wondered if he would even make it to the car before he was on the phone to England.

When he was certain his father had cleared the lobby, Wesley buzzed for Anna. Almost before he had finished speaking her name, she was at his door. Wesley smiled at her. “Thank you Anna. That went rather well.”

She came to stand near him. “Thank you sir, I’m glad.”

Anna was a young woman, petite, pale, with gold hair that just dusted her shoulders. She wore a white business suit today, in fact, Wesley wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her wear anything but white. He had hired her when the agency had started to turn around and Cordelia couldn’t handle the office alone anymore. She’d already proven to be a value in lending the office a professional demeanor, and her skills with potions and other magic had stunned Wesley early on.

“I think we’ll let him stew for a few days. We have more pressing matters.”

“I take it that Cordelia was less than pleased with Angel’s return?”

Wesley sat back, cradling his coffee cup. “Yes.”

“How is he?” she asked, concern coloring her voice.

Wesley looked up at her. The day before when she’d told him that Angel had returned, she hadn’t said anything about his condition. “I’m reading you, sir. You’re worried, concerned for his safety. Yesterday you left here to kill him. I assume that means he is…unwell.”

He nodded. “He is very unwell, Anna. I don’t know what is capable of doing this to a person like Angel. But, I aim to find out.” He put down the coffee cup and sat up. “Cancel everything for the next few days. Have Gunn take the meeting with Mr. Perlin tomorrow afternoon. I need you to order some groceries to be delivered to the apartment. Include a generous supply of pig’s blood.” He drank deeply from his cup, then put it down. “Assume the council will try to learn what is going on. Treat all new clients with suspicion. Use the family emergency excuse.”

Anna scribbled notes on her pad and disappeared, only to reappear a few minutes later with a small stack of books. “You might need these, sir,” she said when he looked at her in question. “Don’t know why, just seems like the right ones to take.” She smiled and it made Wesley respond in kind. He’d stopped questioning moments like this months before.

“Thank you Anna.” When she was gone again, Wesley gathered those books and several others, then slipped out the back way to his car. Knowing the groceries would take a while, he made a quick stop at the butcher’s shop near his apartment complex for a pint of blood, then juggled his box of books, briefcase and the blood up the stairs to the apartment.

All in all he had only been gone a few hours. With any luck, Angel had spent the time sleeping. Wesley set the briefcase down and dug in his pocket for his key, and more importantly, the hematite keychain that was the key to the magical protection he had triggered before leaving.

Wesley pushed the door open, with his free hand, and pushed the briefcase in with his foot. The apartment was quiet, somehow quieter than when he knew there was no one in it. He freed the keys from the knob and put them on the table by the door. Gingerly, he set the box of books on the floor, retrieving the stake that Gunn had left him.

Slowly, almost afraid of what he might find, Wesley moved to his bedroom door. It was slightly ajar, and he peered into the dark depths of the room, trying to make out Angel’s form on the bed. “Angel?” His voice was soft, and he imagined the jump, the unnatural fear the voice had caused the night before. “I’m home.”

Once into the bedroom Wesley could see that Angel wasn’t in the bed. It took a moment for that to register. Wesley turned on the overhead light. The bed was a disaster, the sheets torn, the comforter ripped in half. “Angel?” He moved further into the room, looking around the bed and behind the door for any sign of the vampire. He stood there holding the Styrofoam container of blood and a stake and waited…listened.

Soft, not sounds really, more guttural emanations drew Wesley toward the closet. He parted the clothes and found Angel, huddled into himself, rocking in a disconcerting not-rhythm, his lips moving without real sounds coming from them. His eyes were vacant—no, that wasn’t the right word, they were looking at something Wesley couldn’t see, something Wesley never wanted to see, because somehow he knew that Angel was looking at the face of whatever had done this to him.

That, more than anything, cut into Wesley. He had wanted to hate him, to hurt him, and ultimately to stake him for everything he had said and done, for leaving and letting them all believe he had turned again, this time of his own free will. But, to actually see Angel broken hurt him in ways he had never anticipated. Wesley paused to turn and throw the stake into the next room, before moving closer.

Angel didn’t even know he was there as Wesley set the pint of blood on the night stand and came to squat in front of Angel. It took Wesley’s hand on his arm to pull Angel even slightly out of himself. Wesley found himself making comforting “shh-shh” noises, or what he hoped was comforting “shh-shh” noises as he gently rubbed at Angel’s arms.

It took a while for Angel to settle enough for Wesley to try to get him to stand, and even then, it was only a step or two out of the closet before Angel was collapsing on himself again. With a patience usually reserved for the very elderly, or the very ill, Wesley sank to the floor with him, doggedly trying to keep Angel from withdrawing from him again. They ended up with Angel half in Wesley’s lap, up against the bed.

When it seemed Angel’s shaking had subsided, Wesley tried to turn Angel’s face toward him, but Angel pulled away. Trying not to let his frustration show, Wesley reached up for the container on the nightstand. He opened it slowly, lest he spill any of it, then moved it closer to Angel’s face.

It was fairly obvious that Angel hadn’t fed in some time. The strong, muscular body that had protected innocents and dispatched demons was gone, his skin slack, his face drawn, his eyes sunken. Wesley waved the cup under his nose, trying to draw some reaction. When there was none, Wesley brought it right up to Angel’s mouth. Wesley shifted a little to get Angel’s head against his shoulder, tilted just enough that he could tip the cup and trickle the blood into Angel’s slack mouth. He felt Angel swallow instinctively, once, then twice…then hands came up to meet Wesley’s and hold the cup, tilting it further and the swallowing became stronger.

Just as suddenly, Wesley felt those hands pushing away, the cup flying toward the closet doors and Angel doubled over, whispering “No, no, no, no…” The sobbing came at the same time and Angel’s head ended up in Wesley’s lap. His hands seemed to settle of their own accord into an active loop of stroking Angel’s hair and back while trying to figure out what had just happened.

Obviously whatever had done this to him had made it impossible for Angel to feed, though it seemed to be a purely psychological prohibition. That alone could be the cause of much of the confusion, the weakness. “There now, its okay,” he heard himself saying, though he wasn’t sure what “it” was or how it was okay.

Then, Angel was retching, his body convulsing as what little blood had found its way into him came up and out, joining the blood already painting the walls and floor. Long after the vomit ceased, Angel shook convulsively, clinging to Wesley and still whispering “No, no, no, no…” in an endless loop of denial.

For almost an hour he sat on that floor, amid the spilt blood and Angel’s frighteningly bizarre behavior, until the crying had stopped and Angel was still. “Angel?” His voice was soft, his hands sliding off Angel’s head as he shifted.

“W-wesley?” The voice was little more than a whisper, but it was a start.

“Come, let’s get you off the floor and into some clothes.” It wasn’t lost on Wesley that Angel was naked, having been unable to do more than get him out of the wet and dirty clothes the night before. Angel let Wesley lift him to his feet, leaning into him as Wesley led him to the end of the bed closest the dresser.

Angel sat dully where he was deposited, his eyes glazed over and only vaguely following Wesley as he pulled sweat pants and a t-shirt from the drawers. Wesley knelt in front of Angel and tried to arrange the pants for the easiest method of assisting Angel into them, then lifted Angel’s foot. The skin at the ankle felt odd, bumpy, almost like some sort of rash. Wesley settled Angel’s foot into the pool of material, his hand sliding up the back of Angel’s leg. The bumpy skin continued.

Wesley frown and leaned closer, trying to see in the shadows cast by his body and the bed. Angel began shaking again, trying to pull his leg out of Wesley’s hands, and Wesley looked up at him. “I can’t very well help you dress if I don’t touch you, Angel,” he said softly, deciding it best to leave the examination for later. Wesley resumed working on getting Angel’s feet into the sweat pants, then pulling them up until he had to help Angel stand.

As his arms’ circled Angel’s waist, his nimble fingers could feel the skin of his back. It too was covered in a series of bumps. As he sat Angel back down, Wesley’s fingers skimmed the surface of his back. Angel moved just enough to break the contact. “No.” he said in that sad, plaintive voice.

“It’s okay Angel.” Wesley murmured, his eyes now beginning to pick out the bizarre mosaic that swept across his skin in tiny scars. Most people would look right at it and never see it…but Wesley wasn’t most people. “I know you’re frightened, Angel. But you are safe and I need to know.” Wesley said before reaching out to touch once more.

Not far removed from Braille, tiny bumps spread across every inch of Angel’s back, each of them a tiny scar, a reminder of their making, a reminder of the pain of each puncture, cut and tear inflicted until he ran red with it. Angel didn’t flinch, but Wesley did. He could almost see it being done. He wanted to pull his hand away, but he needed Angel to trust him, to know that he wouldn’t abandon him.

Wesley licked dry lips and exhaled slowly, his hand moving over Angel’s left shoulder, following the line of the pattern onto Angel’s chest, then down. There was little skin not marked. Wesley tried to imagine what the purpose was, other than the pain, but he could feel Angel starting to stiffen and withdraw from him again. He lifted his eyes from Angel’s chest, surprised to be met with Angel’s eyes, their dark depths begging for something. “Oh, Angel, what have they done to you?” Wesley whispered.

Angel looked away, his eyes closing. “No.” was all he said in response.

Wesley sighed and stood, reaching for the t-shirt and helping Angel into it. “Come now, let’s get you ready for bed.”

An hour later, Wesley had remade the bed with fresh linens and settled Angel into it. The vampire was asleep, though it didn’t seem to be peaceful. Wesley sat in a chair near the bed, his head swimming with what little he knew, trying to make the pieces fit. He tried laying out the words to the spell he had once crafted to free himself from his father’s control in his head, but the fatigue of the last 38 hours was pulling at him…and he slipped into the soft darkness of sleep instead.


	2. Chapter Two

Wesley woke to the sound of knocking on the front door. A quick glance at the bed showed Angel still sleeping. Wesley pulled himself up, stiff muscles protesting and shuffled to the living room, carefully pulling the bedroom door closed behind him. The shadows hanging in the apartment told him that it was late afternoon as he crossed to the door.

The delivery boy was familiar, though Wesley couldn’t place his name as he fumbled for his wallet and nodded his thanks while the boy settled the box and two bags inside the door. Stifling a yawn, Wesley herded the groceries toward the kitchen and spent the next few minutes putting them away.

His nap hadn’t done him a lot of good and he found himself stretching to straighten out his back as he lifted the canister of baby formula out of the box. The sight of it made him smile, and realize how much he missed having the little guy around. He had asked Fred to watch him while he had gone out to take care of Angel.

Wesley sighed and finished his task. No matter how much he wanted Conner home, he knew it wouldn’t do to have him there with Angel…not yet anyway. Not that Fred would mind, she loved the baby as much as any of them did, no matter his parentage or the circumstances that had brought him to their lives.

As far as the world was concerned, Wesley was Conner’s father, and a few favors called in had given him a legitimate birth certificate, or one that would pass the most stringent forgery tests anyway. Cordelia and Fred acted as surrogate mothers, taking turns keeping him when Wesley simply could not.

Wesley started a pot of coffee for what promised to be a long night, and arranged his gathered books on the kitchen table. He wasn’t really sure where to begin, so picked up a book from the pile of ones Anna had brought him. It was an old Watcher’s text, indexing arcane languages used in ancient spells. He flipped through it, hoping to find something that resembled the marks he had seen on Angel, but his view had been brief and his lack of familiarity with the markings made them difficult to remember.

The next was a mythology that he didn’t even remember owning. He didn’t often question Anna’s intuition, but wondered what this book could have to do with the other. Written in a language akin to several Middle Eastern dialects it wasn’t difficult to get a general gist of the story. Wesley skimmed through the pages, committing as much to memory as he could in the swift reading, in case it became necessary.

Several hours later, still deeply involved in the mythology that Anna had slipped in with his books, Wesley heard movement in the bedroom. He set the book aside and pulled a container of blood from the refrigerator, carefully pouring it into a coffee mug to warm in the microwave.

When it was done, he went softly to the bedroom door and waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. Hollow, sunken eyes stared back at him from the corner of the room where Angel crouched. Wesley crossed the room on bare feet and crouched in front of Angel.

“Are you feeling better, Angel?” he asked quietly, cradling the mug of blood between them. “I’ve brought you something.” He tried to hold it out to him, but Angel shut his eyes and shook his head.

“No.”

“You must feed, Angel.” Wesley held the cup between them for a moment, one hand reaching out for Angel’s. “You’ll never get better if you—“

“No!” Angel’s hand flung out and knocked the mug from Wesley’s hand. It crashed against the wall, shattering. Wesley cussed and pulled his hand away.

“Really, Angel.” He started picking up the pieces, grimacing at the bright red splash across his wall. “That wasn’t necessary.” He heard the sobbing start and turned to see Angel’s body slumping to one side as he buried his head in his hands. His distraction allowed one of the pieces in his hand to slip, slicing neatly through the meaty part of his palm as it fell back to the floor. Again, Wesley cussed and instinctively brought the cut to his mouth. He let the gathered pieces fall back to the floor and moved back to sit on the bed, nursing his wounded hand.

It wasn’t until he felt Angel’s hands that he’d realized the vampire had moved from the corner. “Hurt.” Angel said, his hands touching Wesley’s.

“Yes, a bit.” Wesley answered, watching breathlessly as Angel leaned closer and opened his mouth. He wanted to say something, move, but he couldn’t as Angel’s tongue slipped out over the wound. Then Angel’s mouth was closing over it. The sensation of those lips sucking gently at the open flesh made Wesley’s head swim. There was no biting, Angel’s face remained that of a mortal man, but the pulling was touching something much deeper in Wesley.

Angel’s body was between Wesley’s legs, his shoulder putting a light pressure in his crotch as he bent over Wesley’s leg to lick and suck at his hand. Wesley was afraid to move, though he wasn’t sure if it was because he was afraid of losing the pleasant intimacy of those touches, or because he was afraid of frightening Angel.

Wesley’s eyes closed as Angel shifted, his arm moving against Wesley’s growing cock as the natural flow of blood began curbing and he had to work harder to keep it flowing into him. The warmth growing through Wesley began as a fire in his groin that he was having a hard time keeping under control and brought a flush to his face.

No, this was wrong. On so many levels. As gently as possible, Wesley maneuvered his hand away from Angel, and pulled his body back a little further on the bed. Angel sat still, his eyes focused on the carpet. Wesley cleared his throat and willed his body into submission. It occurred to him that he might get Angel to feed now. It only took a moment to leave the room and return with another cup, less full this time. He knelt beside Angel and held the cup up to his lips.

The vampire seemed empty as Wesley set the cup to his lips and poured a swallow of the warm red liquid into his mouth. There was a long hesitation before he swallowed, but he did swallow. Wesley got two more into him before he decided he wouldn’t push his luck.

“There now, that wasn’t so bad,” he whispered, wiping the corner’s of Angel’s mouth with his t-shirt. “How do you feel?”

“Tired.”

Wesley hadn’t expected an answer, but nodded none the less. “Let’s get you back up into the bed then, shall we?”

 

The next two days were filled with much the same, Wesley would read and research while Angel slept. Angel slept until the nightmares chased him out of the bed and into the dark corners of the bedroom or into the closet. Each time he woke, Wesley tried to convince him to feed. Sometimes he managed to get a swallow or two into him and keep it there, but more often than not Angel would refuse, sometimes violently.

Wesley’s piles of books grew, and stacks of them covered the living room table, the kitchen table and several spots on the floor. His notebook was filled with words Angel called out in his dreams, or spoke when awake. A half eaten plate of food sat off to the side of him, several open books spread in front of him, and in his lap was his personal journal, open to the pages from just before Angel had left.

Wesley sat staring at the entire mess without really seeing any of it. He wasn’t making any progress. In fact he hadn’t felt like this much of a failure since that night. He’d gone to the hotel, looking for Angel, to explain what he thought had happened. Angel wasn’t there, in fact nobody was, just a message from Cordelia telling him that Angel wanted him to come to that warehouse.

He’d known it was a trap, but he had gone anyway. He couldn’t have refused. There was a chance the spell would wear off on its own, but Wesley had crafted a counter spell. He only had to get close enough to use it. There had been no moon that night, and Angel was waiting for him in that dark. The scuffle had been brief, but bloody, and Wesley had managed to hold his own, at least until Angel had played his trump card, the barely conscious form of Cordelia.

Wesley had lost his footing then, as Angel held Cordy, bent as if he would feed from her. He had fallen, his ankle sprained, and Angel had gained the upper hand.

_Wesley fought weakly as Angel wrapped chains around his body, securing him to a pillar. Angel laughed. “Are you going to help me now, Wes?”_

_“Cause as I recall, this is the part that I’m good at.” Angel paced around him,_

_“Angel, this isn’t you. There was a spell—“_

_“Isn’t there always?” Angel was in front of him now, Wesley’s own knife in his hand. It wasn’t large, but deadly sharp. He toyed with it, watching the flecks of light as he turned it in his hand. “Maybe this really is me Wes. Maybe I like me this way.”_

_Wesley shook his head and swallowed. “No, I know better. I know you.”_

_“Do you know?” There was the vaguest suggestion of an Irish brogue in the words and Wesley blanched as Angel raised the knife. “Then you know how good I am at this part.”_

_The movement was slow, deliberate, a small, shallow cut along Wesley’s jaw line. Blood welled at it and Angel leaned closer still and slowly licked the wound. “Mmmm, you taste good Wes.”_

_He made a matching wound on the other side of his face, licking it as well. Wesley caught his breath, suddenly flush with the arousal Angel’s nearness had always caused in the early days of their friendship. He tried to will it away, but there was no denying the ache he had suppressed for years._

_Angel chuckled and moved away, offering Wesley a small respite to gather himself. “Angel, this is the council’s doing—“_

_“Maybe, Wes. But maybe I don’t care.”_

_“You're not yourself. Let me help you.”_

_Angel turned swiftly, his hand swinging out to connect with Wesley’s face. The blow stung and Wesley’s head snapped to the side with the force. “Help me what, Wes? Torture you? I think I can do that without your help.” He moved in close and raised the blade again, slowly licking Wesley’s blood from it. He watched Wesley squirm against the chains as he pressed in closer, moving his leg between Wesley’s so that their thighs touched. “Or maybe you have other ideas?” His empty hand darted down to cup Wesley’s crotch and his already semi-hard cock._

_Wesley moaned and Angel laughed. “I always knew you liked me Wes.” Angel whispered in his ear. Wesley turned his head away, but Angel’s hand was rubbing up and down his cock now and he was finding it hard to concentrate. Angel licked at the wound on his left jaw. “So good. Can I taste some more?”_

_Angel’s lips captured Wesley’s in a kiss that turned to something else as his teeth grazed them. bringing beads of blood to the surface for Angel to suck at. Wesley sagged against his bounds, unable to deny his body’s reaction as Angel drank from him and rubbed his crotch._

_Then Angel was gone, that touch, those lips…Wesley opened eyes he didn’t remember shutting and looked around. He never saw the fist that connected with his face, sending him reeling into the darkness._

_When he woke, Angel was shoving a heated piece of rebar into Wesley’s leg. “Thought that might wake you.” Angel said, laughing. “You keep dozing off on me Wes. I thought you liked me.” Wesley couldn’t keep from yelling as the metal tore through his leg. Pain exploded around it, and for a moment that was all he could concentrate on. Then it was overwhelmed by the pain in his shoulder. Wesley turned his head as Angel leaned into the metal spike he was pushing into Wesley._

_“Angel.” Wesley gasped it, his eyes rising to meet the dark ones of his tormentor. For the briefest of moments, Wesley thought he saw doubt, fear, in those eyes, then Angel was turning away, pacing over to where Cordelia had been slumped. She was gone and Angel laughed again._

_“Where’d you go, Cordy? We’re just getting started.”_

_Wesley watched Angel move into the shadows cast by the moon and the scattered equipment, and tried not to move himself as he felt Cordelia’s hands on his._

_“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” Angel called._

_Wesley couldn’t see him anymore. “Hurry,” he mouthed to Cordelia as she tried to move the chains that bound him. He felt them give, just as Angel came back into view. With his unwounded hand, Wesley pushed Cordelia toward the door. “Go!” He didn’t get a chance to see if she had, as Angel crashed into him and they toppled to the floor._

_Wesley screamed in pain as the rebar sticking through his leg connected first with the floor, then with Angel’s leg. Angel’s hands were pressing into his leg around the wound and Wesley’s vision started to swim. His last sight was of Angel’s face, losing the vampire ridges, softening, then a bright flash of light and everything went black._

He’d woken in the hospital, with Cordelia and Gunn sitting watch. Wesley shook his head and set aside the journal. The apartment was quiet and dark. He realized he didn’t know what time it was, or even what day. He ran a hand through his hair and over the rough stubble on his face.

He needed sleep, and a shower. He needed to find out what his father wanted, what the council wanted. It was clear they hadn’t known about Angel. Stuck in a moment of indecision, Wesley jumped when the phone rang. He smiled at himself and grabbed the phone. “Hello.”

“Just making sure you’re still among the living. Anna hadn’t heard from you. Cordy hadn’t heard from you. Fred says Conner hasn’t seen you since—“”

“I’m fine Charles.”

“And the vampire?”

Wesley sighed wearily. “He’s—sleeping.”

“Any closer to figuring out what’s going on?”

“Not really, I’m afraid. I have some clues, mostly things he’s said, but they aren’t leading anywhere. Someone has really done a number on Angel’s head.”

“Don’t think I want to know what could do that to him.”

“Hmm…yes, well. I at least want to find a way to undo it.”

“What if you can’t?”

Wesley wasn’t ready yet to consider that possibility. If Wesley couldn’t help Angel out of the darkness, Wesley would have to stake him. There was no way he could leave him like this to slowly wither away. Wesley swallowed and changed the subject. “I wonder if you might do me a favor?”

“Depends on whether or not it involves hurting bad guys.”

Wesley smiled. “Not right away, Charles, but soon. Right now I need you to check with Anna for the address to the hotel where my father is staying. He has an offer from the Council, and I want you to go tell him you’re there to hear it. No mention of Angel though, or the fact that he’s back, no matter what he says. Just hear him out and come to me.”

“You want me to go talk to your father.”

“Yes Charles. I’m sending him a message.”

“That’s messed up.”

“Yes, it is.”

“All right. Anything else?”

Wesley hesitated. “How is Conner?”

“Fred says he wants you.”

“I’ll try to stop in to see him tomorrow. I just can’t leave Angel alone again.”

They were quiet for a minute, then Wesley asked, “And, Cordelia? How is she?”

“She’s dealing. Not well, but dealing.”

“Good, we may need her before this whole thing is over.”

“I’ll do the Daddy thing in the morning, and come by your place after.” Gunn said and Wesley nodded, despite the fact that Gunn couldn’t see him.

“I’ll be here.”

Just as Wesley put the phone down, he heard Angel screaming from the bedroom. He pulled open the door to find the Vampire in his usual corner, his t-shirt ripped off, his hands scratching at the skin on his chest and arms. “No! Not-Won’t!”

Wesley crossed the room quickly and grabbed Angel’s hands. “Shh…Angel, Shh…There’s no need to hurt yourself.” Angel’s back was against the wall, his face paler than it had ever been. Long lines of blood marked where his nails had raked the skin, staining the marks raised there and making them stand out even more. Wesley was torn between trying to read them and trying to calm Angel. Eventually, Angel’s struggle won him over, needing all of his strength and concentration to keep him still.

With their bodies so close together, Wesley felt that familiar rush come over him. He whispered to Angel, though he had no idea what he was saying, just noises to bring Angel into the room with him, into himself. He pressed his body against Angel’s, against the wall, moving his hands out to the side so they would stop their scratching. Angel was still mouthing a string of negatives, and Wesley found himself watching Angel’s mouth, until suddenly he was kissing him.

Angel’s words stopped as Wesley’s lips closed over his. Wesley’s eyes closed as he felt the vampire relax. Slowly, Wesley released his grip on Angel’s wrists and they fell to his side. Then he moved back until only his lips were touching Angel. Wesley’s body was rocking with desire, his cock hard in his jeans. It was wrong, and he knew it, but Angel had calmed.

He ended the kiss and pulled back, opening his eyes to watch as Angel slowly slid to the floor. He was calmer than he had been, though his hands still moved over the marks on his chest. Wesley sat beside him on the floor, trying to draw him out. Angel moved so that he was leaning on Wesley, his head on Wesley’s shoulder.

“There now, Angel. It will be all right,” he said softly, his hand moving to stroke Angel’s cheek. The Band-Aid that had covered his sliced palm had gotten lost, and the cut felt odd as it brushed against Angel’s chin. Angel’s lips brushed his palm on his next pass, then his hands closed over Wesley’s holding his wrist against his mouth. At first it was just kisses. Then Wesley felt the touch of the teeth, the dizzying pull as Angel drank. It lasted only a moment, then Angel released him, but Wesley felt it in the core of his being.

They sat a few moments in silence, then Angel’s head lifted. He looked at Wesley almost as if seeing him for the first time. “Wesley.”

Wesley nodded. “Yes, Angel. I’m here.”

Angel nodded, mirroring Wesley. “Where?”

Wesley’s fatigue pulled at him and he had to stifle a yawn. “My apartment.”

Angel shook his head now, then licked his lips. “I taste you.”

Wesley smiled, looking down at the wound in his wrist. “Hmm…yes. How do you feel?”

Angel was done talking though, laying himself down so that his head was on Wesley’s lap. Wesley let him lift his wrist back to his mouth, taking a little more before the vampire was asleep. Wesley wasn’t far behind, leaning back against the wall, and cradling Angel’s head on his thigh.

 

Wesley closed the bedroom door and stumbled to answer the ringing of the doorbell before Angel was wakened by it. His bathrobe mostly covered the bandage on his wrist. He felt scruffy and tried to remember when he had last shaved as he opened the door and motioned Gunn inside. The morning was bright and already warm.

“I brought breakfast.” Gunn said, waving a bag from the donut shop on the corner.

“Donuts are not breakfast.” Wesley countered, though he took the bag. “Sit down, I’ll make coffee.”

“Sleeping in?” Gunn moved some books and sat on the couch, gesturing at the robe when Wesley looked confused.

Wesley weighed his answer carefully. “Long night,” he finally said, as he poured water into the coffee maker.

“Angel?”

Wesley nodded, feeling the tightness in his neck and shoulders. “He sleeps for a few hours, then nightmares shake him. He’s having difficulty feeding, and when he does he regurgitates it almost immediately. It’s rather like taking care of an addict in rehabilitation.”

“Well, you look like shit.”

Wesley smiled. “Thank you Charles.”

Wesley busied himself with putting the donuts onto a plate and selecting mugs from the cupboard to fill with coffee. He could hear Angel moving around, but couldn’t tell if it was because he was awake, or if it was due to some nightmare. As the coffee finished he poured two cups, then moved into the living room.

“So, what did my father have to say?” Wesley set the coffee down on the small patch of clean table, then balanced the plate of donuts atop a stack of books before selecting a small plain frycake and sinking into his recliner.

“That dude is more uptight than you, and I didn’t think that was possible.” Gunn snatched a chocolate frosted and sat back. “Don’t think he liked me much.”

Wesley smiled again. “That was why I sent you. It would keep him off balance. That and I knew he wouldn’t bully you.”

Gunn nodded around his donut. “Damn straight. When I told him who I was and why I was there he got this look on his face, like he was gonna pop a gasket.” Gunn sat up ramrod straight and adopted a very bad British accent. “I came here to speak with my son, not some ruffian he sends along in his place. He very well should be here himself.” Gunn slouched down again. “So I told him I was all he was getting, cause the boss man was busy taking care of business, working on a big situation.”

Wesley nodded and sipped at his coffee. It wasn’t strong enough to pull the fatigue out of his bones. “Very good. What did the council want?”

“Alliance. Seems they got some word on some big-bad thing headed this way. They’re willing to share the info if we do some stuff for them.”

“Did he say what they wanted us to do for them?”

Gunn shook his head. “Nope, but it doesn’t sound like a good idea, you know? One uptight English guy’s all I need in my life.”

Wesley was too deep in thought to recognize or rise to the barb. “Did he give you any indication what it is they say is coming?”

“No, just something big. He seemed to think we couldn’t handle it on our own. I told him we’d done all right so far. Told him to sit tight and one of us would be round to give him an answer.”

“Good. Very good. My father is not a patient man, and we have time.” He was about to say something more when the sound of his name from the bedroom interrupted. Wesley jumped and waved Gunn down. “Stay here. He isn’t ready.”

Wesley opened the door and took a moment to let his eyes adjust. Angel was huddled in his corner, shaking. Wesley went to him, but stopped as Angel’s eyes met his. For the first time he saw a hint of the old Angel in them. “Wesley.”

“Yes, Angel.” Wesley knelt in front of him and made no move to reach out to him.

“Is-is this…real?”

Wesley nodded slowly. “Yes, Angel. Very real indeed.”

“You-you’re not—I didn’t—“ Angel trailed off and closed his eyes. He seemed to swallow with difficulty. “I thought I killed you.”

“No, Angel. I’m quite fine.”

“Where—how—no—“ Angel shook his head, pressing his hands to his temple. “I can see it. I killed you…and Buffy…and Cordy…and…”

Wesley took Angel’s hands and pulled them away from his face. “We are all quite fine, I assure you.” Wesley rubbed strong thumbs along the backs of Angel’s hands, trying to help bring him back to the immediate moment.

“I hurt you.” Angel said after a long time, his eyes falling on the bandages at Wesley’s wrist.

“No, not at all.” Wesley pulled his hands away.

“Before.” Angel said, his eyes looking for Wesley’s again. “Before.”

It took Wesley a moment to understand. “What? Oh, yes. That. Yes, you did. But you weren’t yourself. Do you think you’re ready to try standing up?”

Angel shook his head. “Its quiet here.”

Wesley nodded. “Shall I bring you something to eat? I’ll warm it up for you. Then maybe you’ll feel better.”

Angel didn’t respond, pulling back inside himself, but Wesley stood anyway, turning for the kitchen. Gunn watched as he emerged from the bedroom and moved to the refrigerator, and pulled out a container. “How’s he doing?” Gunn finally asked.

Wesley shrugged. “Better, I think. At least he’s talking. That’s new. I won’t really know until I can get him to let me see him in the light.” Wesley poured the dark red liquid into a coffee mug and put it in the microwave. “He’s confused, terrified—“

“Angel? Terrified?” Gunn stood. “That’s different. What of?”

Again Wesley shrugged. “I wish I knew. Something shattered him, Charles. He’s not the man we once knew.”

“Vampire.” Gunn said instinctively, then regretted it.

“Be that as it may, he is our friend. If we had been better friends we could have prevented this. If I’d seen—“

“This is NOT your fault, English.”

Wesley’s response was cut off by the microwave and Wesley grabbed the mug to head back to the bedroom, only half aware of Gunn following a few paces behind. “Angel?” Wesley said softly as he crossed the carpeted floor. “Here, try this.”

He knelt in front of Angel and offered the mug, but Angel’s eyes were on Gunn’s silhouette in the doorway. “Who?”

“It’s Charles, Angel. He came to see us. Would you like to see him?”

Angel shook his head, looking for all the world like a petulant five year old. Wesley sighed and put the warm mug in Angel’s hands. “Here then, drink this…and no throwing it around the room. I want it gone when I return.”

Gunn moved from the door as Wesley neared it, his face betraying his surprise at seeing Angel. “Boy looks bad,” he finally said after Wesley shut the door.

“He looks better now than he has,” Wesley countered, then walked Gunn toward the door. “Okay, here’s what I need you to do. Assume that the lines to the office and each of our homes have been tapped. Go directly to Anna, give her the information from my father and have her get started on sounding out her sources about any big mystical problems brewing.”

Gunn nodded. “Can do. What about you?”

“I’m going to have a shower and a shave and figure out what comes next. Can you go to Cordelia, tell her what you’ve seen here and tell her—tell her that I need her here this afternoon. I should relieve Fred of the baby, maybe pick up some more groceries. I need someone to stay here with him, and I think it would benefit him to see her.”

“Got it. “

What came next was actually Angel’s decision. As Wesley came back to the bedroom from his shower, wrapped in a towel, Angel was standing in the corner. Wesley smiled at him reassuringly. “I see you’re feeling better.”

Angel didn’t actually answer, only shuffled a little. “Did you drink it all?” To this Angel nodded, then attempted to take a step away from the wall. His legs weren’t very steady and Wesley had to jump to keep him from falling to the ground. Together, they moved slowly toward the bed until Angel could sit gingerly.

“Weak.” He said finally, looking up at Wesley.

“Yes, that comes from the not eating. I don’t know how long it has been, but now that you aren’t throwing it back up you should start getting stronger.”

“Gunn?”

“Gone. I’ve sent him to run some errands. He’ll be back. He’s bringing Cordelia to see you.” Wesley casually bent to turn on the bedside lamp. It wasn’t bright, but it dispelled a bit of the gloom hanging in the room. Angel turned away from the light, but only momentarily.

“Cordelia?” He seemed to be testing the name, tasting it. Then he grimaced.

“Angel?” Wesley came closer as the vampire closed his eyes and shook his head.

“No…not…real…” It took a moment, but Angel seemed to get control again and when he opened his eyes Wesley thought he saw an echo of the terror of the previous days. “I see them. I see what I did to them. You—it’s not real.”

Wesley wasn’t sure if the last part was a question or a statement. “Well, I don’t know what they are, since I can’t see them. But she’s alive.”

Angel swallowed and nodded slowly. “Head hurts.” His hands lifted to his temples, then dropped to his stomach. “Stomach hurts.”

Wesley pulled his robe back on, dropping the towel as he tied the belt. “It’s hard telling what you’ve been through, so I’m not surprised.” Wesley noticed that Angel had spilled some of his blood on his shirt and decided to try another step. “You should probably get cleaned up. Your last shower was days ago, and not really beneficial. I could help you.”

It took Angel a minute to realize what Wesley was saying, but he responded to Wesley’s hands reaching to help him up. It took a bit of doing, and a break half way to the bathroom, but they managed to get Angel into the bathroom and out of his clothes. Wesley filled the tub with hot water and helped Angel sink into the tub, trying to pretend his hand hadn’t brushed Angel’s cock, or that he felt it respond. Not sure he should leave Angel alone, Wesley sank to a seat on the floor beside the tub.

They were quiet a long time, though Wesley was glad to see that Angel didn’t revert back to the catatonic state he’d been in so often when there was silence these last few days. It was Angel who spoke next, his hand moving out of the water to touch his face. “You kissed me.” He said it like it had just happened, like he could still feel the touch of Wesley’s lips.

Wesley blushed and turned away. “Yes, it was…wrong, I’m sorry. I-“

“No.” It was the most forceful Angel had been and Wesley turned to look back at him. “Not wrong. Good.” He almost smiled, then the expression was lost and his thoughts turned away from Wesley again.

As his patient started to turn inward, Wesley determined it was time to get him out of the tub, though that proved more difficult than the getting in. Twenty minutes later, Wesley had Angel dressed in clean flannel pajamas and settled into clean sheets.

He turned to leave, but felt a hand touch his leg. “Stay.”

Wesley looked back at Angel and nodded. He switched off the bedside lamp and crawled into bed beside his friend. Angel nodded and kissed Wesley’s cheek. “Good,” he said, then his eyes were closed and he drifted to sleep, his face just inches from Wesley.

For his part, Wesley didn’t think he could sleep, not with the fire burning inside him after just that little kiss. A week with little sleep was stronger though than even the fire of a long controlled passion attempting to break free at last and Wesley slept.

When he woke he chased some half forgotten dream into wakefulness, instantly aware that he was alone in the bed and that several hours had passed. He sat up slowly, glancing beside him where he had last seen Angel, then into Angel’s corner. He was there, watching Wesley, rocking slightly and looking as if he were uncertain of himself. “Angel?”

“Dreams,” he said softly. Wesley nodded and got up.

He went to Angel and knelt beside him. “Were they bad?” Angel nodded, hugging himself tightly. Wesley smiled softly and brushed stray hair out of Angel’s eyes. “You’re safe now. No one is going to hurt you.”

Angel’s eyes were dark and wouldn’t meet Wesley’s. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Wesley nodded, accepting the apology though he wasn’t sure what it was for. “Are you hungry? I’ll get you something.”

Angel’s hand on his arm stopped him. “No. Can’t.”

Wesley scowled. “You must eat, Angel.”

Angel shook his head. “That’s what she said. Gave me cups of blood.” He shivered and pulled his hand away. “Cold and bad and said it was yours. Made me drink.” He shook his head again. “No more.”

“Who, Angel? Who did this?”

Angel was pulling back. Wesley put a hand on his arm, trying to keep him focused. “Angel. I’m here to help you. I’m here, alive.” He was holding Angel’s hand now, his long fingers stroking softly, but Angel only stared at them, his free hand rising to touch the bandages at Wesley’s wrist.

“I know you are. I tasted you. I remembered.”

Wesley watched as Angel’s hands removed the bandages and exposed the nearly closed wound at his wrist. His had been the first blood Angel had not thrown up. He had tasted it first that night, when Wesley had nearly died at his hands. Angel kissed the wound tenderly and Wesley felt himself harden under his robe.

“Angel—I—“

“Want.” It was a simple word and like the parent of a spoiled child, Wesley gave in, closing his eyes as Angel’s teeth punctured the skin and the dizzying pull began. His body was alive, with fire dancing through his veins, pulled into Angel’s cold body and bringing something of life back to him.

Then Angel was kissing him, pulling frantically at his robe and Wesley was gasping for air, trying just as hard to not hurt Angel as they tossed for position on the floor. Somehow Angel got Wesley’s robe open and was kissing his belly before Wesley could register the wrongness of the situation. He didn’t want to take advantage of Angel’s weakened state to satisfy his own desires, but now Angel's hand was pulling his robe aside while the other did things to his cock he’d never imagined, at least not from Angel.

“Angel—“

“Want.” Angel said again, this time with a hungry edge to his voice and followed by his tongue sliding across Wesley’s skin, down the underside of his very hard cock and up again until Wesley gasped. His whole body shuddered as Angel’s mouth closed around him and his tongue swirled in an indescribable pattern that brought Wesley right to the brink in a heated rush. He couldn’t even moan as he came, his body jerking off the ground in response to Angel’s tongue and lips.

Angel slid to his side, resting his head on Wesley’s shoulder and bringing his wounded wrist slowly back to his mouth. “Want.”

“Yes, Angel.” Wesley couldn’t see the childlike happiness on Angel’s face as his mouth closed over the wound, but he knew he could never deny him again.

An hour later, Wesley finally succeeded in drawing Angel out of the darkness of the bedroom and into the slightly lighter living room where he could more closely examine the marks on Angel’s body, though Angel was not as easily convinced to allow him to remove the pajama shirt he was wearing. He blinked in the bright lights of the lamps that Wesley was turning on and crossed his arms.

“You needn’t say anything, Angel, nor tell me how it happened, or what it was. But, I need to see.”

“No.” Angel said, turning to follow Wesley’s movements around the room. Wesley could see the terror in his eyes though as he approached him.

“No one will hurt you. I’m here. “ Wesley smiled at him, his hand resting on Angel’s shoulder. “I promise you that you are safe.” Wesley reached for the buttons of the shirt, and Angel sat there dully, not helping him, but at least not fighting him anymore either.

Wesley decided that starting where Angel could see him was best, so positioned Angel sitting back a bit on the stool, his chin up so that Wesley could lean forward. Sensitive fingers skimmed the surface of the bumps, feeling for a pattern or sign that would help him unravel the puzzle. “I think it’s writing,” he murmured after a long silence. His finger had traveled part way down Angel’s torso. “A variant of a language I haven’t seen since my days at University.”

Wesley bit his lip and stood back. Angel wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Kalvidesh,” he whispered, shuddering. “She said it was Kalvidesh.”

Wesley’s eyes narrowed. This was the second time Angel had mentioned someone. “Who, Angel? Who said it was Kalvidesh?”

Angel shuddered again and for a moment looked as if he would disappear back into himself. Wesley touched his face, stroking his cheek as an invitation to stay with him.

“Naan.”

Wesley wasn’t certain whether it was a name or a title or a species. “Naan?” he repeated softly, and Angel stiffened, but nodded. “Was she…did she…do this? Make these marks?”

Again Angel nodded miserably, his arms crossing over them as if he could hide them. “How did she make them, Angel?” Wesley asked, his eyes drawn to a circle of the markings on the back of Angel’s right shoulder.

“Blood.” Angel responded, his eyes closing. He started shaking, and Wesley knew he had pushed too far.

“Okay, shh…that’s okay.” He softly caressed Angel’s back, moving to stand behind him so that he could hold Angel from behind. As he quieted, Wesley stepped back to get another look at his back, but was stopped by a quick knocking on his door, followed by it opening to reveal Cordelia holding several shopping bags and letting in the late afternoon sunlight. Angel screamed and turned away, burying his face in Wesley’s chest, clutching at Wesley in fear. Cordelia’s face was frozen in surprise, but she recovered quickly and managed to get the door closed.

Angel was sobbing and shaking and clinging to Wesley, who was stroking his hair and face while gesturing with his chin for Cordelia to put the bags down and come closer.

“There now, Angel, it’s only Cordelia. She’s come to see how you’re doing.” Wesley could feel Angel pulling himself together. “Give him a minute.” Wesley mouthed to Cordelia, who looked shocked, but nodded. “Angel?”

Angel pulled back a little, but wouldn’t look at Cordelia. “Is she real?” he asked in a whisper. Wesley wiped Angel’s face with one hand.

“Yes, she’s very real.”

“Not dead.”

“No, not dead.”

Angel nodded slowly, stealing glances out of the corners of his eyes to where she waited patiently. “Cordelia.” His voice was barely audible and he jumped when she smiled at him.

“Hey.” Obviously whatever retail therapy she had used to overcome her earlier disagreement had worked, or seeing Angel like this affected her as it had Wesley. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she said, then looked to Wesley for guidance.

“Tired.” Angel said in response, pulling on Wesley’s sleeve.

“Of course. This was a big step. I’ll take you back to bed. Cordelia, if you wouldn’t mind waiting here.” Angel leaned on Wesley for support, but nearly as much as he had in days past, and it only took a minute to settle him in to the bed. Wesley pulled the door closed behind him and exhaled sharply. “Thank you.”

“Gunn told me, but I didn’t—he looks—bad.”

Wesley nodded. “Yes, he does.” He sank to a seat on the couch wearily. “Whatever he’s been through, and I’m beginning to get a picture of that, broke him.” He rubbed his face with his hands. “It may even be tied into this business with my Father.”

Cordelia sat next to him, her face filled with concern. “I may not be the most sensitive among us, Wes, but even I can see this is getting to you.”

“Its likely my fault,” he said miserably.

“How?”

“The spell that made him behave that way was mine. My father and the council used it to get to me, to make me finish the duty they had wanted me to do all along.”

“Kill Angel?”

Wesley nodded. “I crafted it when I was younger. I never used it, but I couldn’t bring myself to destroy it either. I wanted it to –It isn’t important…But if I’d have recognized the effects, I could have crafted a counter spell. I think it wore off, or was wearing off when—“ Wesley shook his head and exhaled slowly.

“Wes, you can’t blame yourself for this.”

Wesley hung his head and sighed. He was suddenly very tired. “It doesn’t matter right now. We have problems to solve. I need to get some things from the office, see if I can translate whatever it is that is written on Angel’s skin, see if Anna’s made any progress. I need to see Connor.” He stood and paced a little around the room. “Can you stay here and keep an eye on him? I shouldn’t be long, but I don’t really want to leave him alone either.”

Cordelia nodded a little hesitantly, standing and folding her arms. “What if he wakes up?”

Wesley looked at the door, listening for a moment. “He shouldn’t, but if he does, he’ll probably keep to himself. If you talk to him, be gentle and patient. He’s dealing with some pretty strong delusions. Whoever did this convinced him that he’d killed us all. It’s taking him some time to accept that we aren’t in his head.”

Cordelia nodded. “I can make some dinner. I brought groceries, and some stuff for Angel.”

Wesley was pulling on his jacket and reaching for his keys, but paused. “Don’t offer him anything until I get back. You could trigger a reaction.”

“Reaction?”

“A flashback followed by an outburst. Mostly its been sobbing and reverting to a catatonic state, but there’s been violence as well.”

“Got it, no blood for Angel.”

Wesley smiled reassuringly. “I’ll be back as quickly as I’m able.”


	3. Chapter 3

Wesley’s first stop was the occult bookstore a few blocks from his apartment. The proprietor there was an aging woman who had a surprisingly good grasp of demon linguistics, and kept her eyes open for rare volumes that Wesley would find useful.

The door chimed as Wesley slid in from the street and Ms. Wills looked up from the book she was perusing near the register. A smile spread across her ample face and she ran one hand through her graying hair as he waved hello. “Wesley, I was expecting you,” she said, her voice soft, musical.

“You were?”

She smiled again, this time with a touch of mischief around the edges. “That little secretary of yours called, said you would be stopping by, needing a book. She suggested this one.” She held up the dusty volume in front of her. “Can’t say that I understand it. In fact, I didn’t even know I had it.”

She turned it over and looked it up and down. “Came in with a bunch of stuff from an estate sale, Sumerian, Babylonian, bunch of others from that area. This one though….this one is different.”

Wesley took the book and opened it to a random page. The text appeared to be hand scribed and the markings had a vague semblance to the ones on Angel’s body. Wesley nodded to himself, leafing through the book. “What language is this?”

Ms. Wills shrugged. “Nearest I can figure it makes out as Kalvi. Can’t get a handle on it though. Anna seemed to think you could.”

Wesley smiled and closed the book. “Well, if that isn’t a ringing endorsement, I don’t know what is.”

“Its yours then. I owe you one for helping me with that squatter a few months ago. You want a bag?”

“No, Ms. Wills, thank you. We’ll have to get together for tea next week and talk about that dialect that was giving you headaches.”

“Anna said I should send you to the office. Sounded pretty urgent.”

“That’s my next stop. You have a good evening.”

”You too, Wesley. Watch your back.”

Wesley waved his reply and got into the car, tossing the book on the seat next to him. “Kalvi,” he said, to himself as he started the car. “Kalvidesh.”

The drive to the office took longer than usual as he got caught up in the early part of the evening rush hour, and he used the time to ruminate on what language the “desh” part of Kalvidesh came from. It was fairly obvious from his brief look that the marks on Angel’s flesh were a hybrid of the Kalvi in the book and something else.

Wesley crawled through traffic until he was able to turn into the parking lot near the office, and by the time he had parked the sun was well on its way to setting. Opening the front door to the office, it was obvious to Wesley he wouldn’t need to go to Fred’s apartment to pick up Connor. His diaper bag was on the lobby counter, toys were scattered around the floor and the door to the conference room that doubled as a nursery was open, the sounds of Connor’s favorite musical toy emanating from within. Wesley crossed to the door, watching for a moment while Connor beat on the buttons. Quite suddenly though, Connor looked up, his face brightening as he spotted Wesley. He climbed to his feet and started toddling toward him and Wesley took two steps and scooped him up.

“There’s my big boy.”

“Da Da Da Da.” Connor replied, pressing wet kisses against Wesley’s cheek.

“Dada missed you.” Wesley kissed him back, one hand smoothing the dark hair. At ten months old, Connor was already ahead of other kids his age physically. He had been walking for almost a month and already had most of his teeth. His vocabulary had grown in the last few weeks to include calling Wesley “Dada” and calling the other immediate people in his life by some close approximation to their names. He was, however, exhibiting some of the stubbornness of his biological father, refusing to give up his bottle in favor of cups or solid foods.

Wesley held Connor and rocked him and Connor laughed. “Where is everyone else?” Wesley asked, though not expecting Connor to respond.

“Fed seep.” Connor said, pointing toward the back of the conference room. Wesley put him down and moved around the table. Fred lay on the floor, a book in her hand as if she had been reading to him. Her glasses rested at the very end of her nose, looking as if they might slip off with even a breath.

“I see, Fred’s sleeping.” Wesley said, turning to find Connor watching him. “Shall we go find Anna?”

“Gunn.” Connor said, moving toward the door.

“Gunn it is then.” Wesley scooped Connor up and flipped him around, causing squeals of delight. He could hear Gunn’s voice as he neared his office door, and he only paused to knock lightly before opening it enough to look in. Anna was with him, and beside her…a woman who had to be a sister. Nearly identical in every detail aside from hair and eye color, she sat beside Anna, looking up at Wesley expectantly as he paused.

“Ah, sorry to interrupt.” Wesley said.

Gunn stood and waved him into the room. ‘No, you’re right on time. This is Anna’s sister, Anan.”

Wesley held out and a hand in greeting. Her grip was firm and her eyes met his evenly. “It is a pleasure, Mr. Wyndham-Price. Anna’s told me a lot about you.”

“It’s Wesley, please. And I’m glad to meet you. Anna did mention she had sisters.”

“It seems that one of them is missing.” Gunn said.

“I was hoping you could help me find her.” Anan’s skin was darker than Anna’s, her hair a copper-red, her eyes a dark blue that Wesley found captivating. “She’s…proven elusive, and she’s not well. With her powers she’s dangerous on the streets.”

“That is what we do.” Wesley said, then turned to look at Gunn. “Of course, I’m rather busy with a personal matter at the moment. However, Gunn—“

“Already all over it, Wes.” Gunn sat back down in his chair and propped his feet up on the desk. “Anan’s been tracking her, got as far as LA and lost her trail. She’s a mystical mojo worker like Anna here, only she’s not so emotionally stable. I figure she’s headed into the underground, so some of our contacts might have seen her.”

“Then you are in good hands.” Wesley shifted Connor who was trying to lunge into Anna’s lap. He fussed until Wesley put him down and Connor launched himself at Anna, who caught him and smiled.

“Little man, little man.” She tickled him and he giggled.

“Happy.” Connor always said that whenever Anna held him, almost as if it were her name.

“Yes, little one, you make me happy.” Anna said, her face radiant. Wesley breathed in deeply, relishing the calm she could project into a room. She looked up at him and smiled. He felt his shoulders start to unknot. “How are things, sir?” she asked.

“Better. And, thank you for the book. Mrs. Wills told me you called.”

“I hope it helps.”

 

Connor crawled into Anan’s lap , putting his little hands on either side of her face. She looked startled, but not bothered, and after a moment, smiled.

Conner laughed and softly patted her face. “Happy,” he said again, then Wesley reached for him.

“Sorry about that.” Wesley said settling Connor onto his hip.

“Don’t be, he’s a precious child.” Anan said. “And powerful.” She cocked her head toward Anna. “He’s special.”

Wesley felt suddenly protective. “Yes, he is. Very much so.” He turned and caught Gunn’s eye. “Ah, I’m taking Connor home.”

Gunn made a face that Wesley knew was his “is that a good idea” face. “You sure you want junior up in that mess?”

Wesley nodded tightly. “Yes, I think its best for him. Can I talk to you for a moment, Charles?.” He crossed to the door. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Anan. I hope that we can help you in your search for your sister.”

Once he’d pulled the door closed, Wesley turned to Gunn. “If this sister is as powerful as Anna, this could be trouble. This could be the situation the council was sensing.”

Gunn nodded. “Yeah, we don’t even know what all she can do.”

“Be careful. When you know you’re close, call me. You shouldn’t go up against an unstable witch yourself.” Wesley started to walk away, then stopped. “You should probably wake Fred and send her home. She’s sleeping in the conference room.”

Gunn laughed. “She was up all night watching the Wizard of Oz with the wonder tyke here. He wouldn’t sleep.”

Connor babbled indecipherable baby talk as Wesley made his way back down the hallway to his office. He found it comforting, familiar and realized that was why the apartment had seemed so quiet since Angel had come. It wasn’t the sound of the wounded vampire, but that of the missing child. “Dada is going to take you home, Connor. Just a few more minutes.”

Wesley rummaged through his desk, not certain what he was looking for until his hand fell on the small package that had come from his mother two weeks before. Juggling Connor around so that he could open the package, Wesley pulled at the paper that wrapped the box until he could get in to the box itself. The note was typically short, well wishes, some of your things included, love mother. Inside the small box were odds and ends of trinkets, not unlike the other things she had sent in the past, and as always, at the bottom, one of his books.

He lifted it free of the wrappings, his thumb gliding over an ornate, but worn cover. It looked familiar. He had seen something similar only recently. Figuring that meant it might be helpful, Wesley tucked it into a pocket and left the office. He gathered the diaper bag and a few other things and left the office to get back to the apartment. He’d been gone longer than he’d wanted.

The smell of food cooking greeted him as he cleared the stairs. Connor was half asleep in his arms, his head heavy on Wesley’s shoulder. He cleared the energy barrier he’d established as he left and opened the door. Cordelia waved from the kitchen and he nodded.

The door to the second bedroom had been closed all week, all evidence of Connor’s existence hidden away behind it. Wesley opened the door and settled Connor into his crib, hoping he would sleep, at least for a little while. He waited a moment, stroking Connor’s hair softly and watching as the little one settled in and finally slept.

“How is he?” Wesley asked as he emerged from the nursery.

Cordelia shrugged. “Its been quiet. There was yelling a while ago, nightmares, crying. He asked for you. I told him you’d be back soon. I haven’t heard anything since.”

Wesley nodded. “Did you say you brought fresh blood?” She nodded. “Warm some up please.”

She opened the refrigerator and set about preparing Angel’s meal. “You hungry? I cooked. It isn’t much, but its hot and ready.”

Wesley smiled. “Yes, thank you Cordelia. I’ll check on Angel first though, see if I can get him to feed.”

The microwave beeped and Cordelia handed a black mug to Wesley, who in turn went to the door of his bedroom, knocking softly before opening it. He closed it behind him and gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim room.

Angel sat in his corner, his knees bent in front of him, his gaunt body pressed against the wall. His face seemed vacant, his eyes glassy as he stared at the floor. Wesley moved a little closer. “I’m back, Angel. I’ve brought you something.”

Angel didn’t move, and Wesley came closer and turned on the bedside light, stopping short as his eyes caught on the stake in Angel’s hand. The point rested against his chest, right in the center of a circular pattern of the odd markings. It had already penetrated skin, as evident by the blood dripping from the spot.

“Angel?”

“It hurts.” Angel said, still unmoving. “Stop the pain.”

“I know it hurts, Angel. I know.” Wesley crouched down beside him. His heart raced, his breath stabbing at his lungs as he tried to martial his face into an expression closer to affection than fear. He had come this far, and he couldn’t lose him now.

“Stop the hurt.” Angel’s eyes closed as Wesley touched his knee. “No.” His hand with the stake pushed harder toward his heart. “Can’t be him again.”

Wesley’s other hand touched Angel’s, long fingers wrapping around the fist that held the wood, pulling back just enough to keep Angel from turning himself into a pile of dust. “Angel, please stay with me.” Wesley pleaded softly, his voice laced with his desire. There was no use denying that his need to keep Angel alive was mere friendship.

“Hurt. Stop the hurt. Stop the pain.” Tears streaked Angel’s face and when his eyes finally met Wesley’s, he found tears in his own as well.

“I promise Angel, we will find a way. It will get better.” Wesley’s left hand rose up to wipe the tears from Angel’s cheeks. “Just stay with me and I’ll make it better.”

Ever so slowly, Angel loosened his grip on the stake, until it fell to the floor. Wesley exhaled in relief, now holding Angel’s hand as his body shook with sobs. He moved so that he was sitting on the floor and took Angel in his arms, holding him as he cried. It seemed natural as the sobbing subsided for Angel’s mouth to find its way to Wesley’s wrist, as if nursing a newborn. It seemed to calm him, even though he only took a few swallows and when he was done, Wesley got him to sit up again.

“Here, drink this too,” he said softly, handing him the mug. “Cordelia brought it for you.”

Angel took it dully, looking into it for a long time before taking a sip of it. He made a face, but didn’t throw it. He lifted the mug again, this time tilting his head back and pouring the contents down, swallowing quickly, like a child taking his medicine.

“That’s good.” Wesley, said, taking the cup back. “Do you feel like telling me about it?”

Angel shook his head. “Inside out.”

Wesley looked at him closely. “What does that mean, Angel?”

“Inside out, Outside in.” He looked up at where Wesley was now standing.

“You’ve said that before, you know.” Wesley said, as if Angel were actually listening. “A few days ago. You were dreaming then.”

“Wes?” Cordy’s voice near the doorway drew his attention. She was leaning in the doorway. “Dinner’s getting cold.”

“Yes, right. Let me get him settled into bed again. I’ll be out.”

 

Wesley sighed as he set the cup and the stake on the counter. Behind him, Cordelia was moving plates and silverware to the small kitchen table that she had cleaned of his books and notes. He was tired, the kind of tired that sunk in to a person and dragged them down.

“Is he okay?” Cordy asked when Wesley didn’t move toward the table.

Wesley turned to look at her, his expression a mix of his apprehension and his desire to comfort her. “I don’t know.” He sighed again, more explosively than the first and moved to take a seat beside her as she started dishing up a salad. “If I hadn’t gone in just then, we might not have had to worry about it anymore.”

When she looked at him confused, he pointed at the stake before grabbing at the plate of rolls. “He was ready to stake himself.”

Cordelia grimaced and set aside the salad bowl. “Wow, just like Darla…only not with the noble intentions and all.”

Wesley finished filling his bowl with the rich stew Cordelia had brought and nodded. The similarity wasn’t lost on him. Darla had come to them, pregnant and ready to deliver, lost, tormented by the soul within her. Wesley would never be certain if her self-sacrifice had been for Connor’s benefit alone, or if she truly couldn’t take the pain anymore.

“He’s hurting,” Wesley said, aware that it was likely unnecessary.

“Those nightmares of his, they sounded pretty bad.”

Wesley nodded, he’d sat beside Angel as he’d thrashed about, caught in some dream that Wesley could only imagine, for days. He’d seen the echo of the terror in Angel’s face when he woke. He ate silently for a minute, remembering how his kiss had calmed him after the nightmares had driven him to tear at his own skin.

“I can stay.” Cordy said after a long silence. “It looks like you could use some help, especially with having Connor home.”

Wesley smiled and swallowed. “That isn’t necessary, Cordelia.”

She smiled too. “I know it isn’t necessary. I want to. No arguments. I’ll run out and get a few things and let Dennis know.”

Wesley could tell from the look on her face that disagreement wouldn’t get him anywhere, so he abandoned the effort and nodded. “We can take turns sleeping on the couch.”

“See, I told Fred you could be reasonable.” She smiled and stuffed a forkful of salad into her mouth. Wesley had to admit it was nice to have company, especially someone who knew how to make him smile.

The rest of the meal was fairly quiet, with what little talk there was revolving around Connor and the office. Together, the two of them cleared the table, washed the dishes and put them away, then Cordelia moved to grab her purse and jacket.

“I’ll only be about an hour. You should get some rest.” She kissed his cheek and headed out the front door.

“Rest.” Yes, he thought to himself, he really should rest. He watched her go, then remembered the book in his pocket. Pulling it out, he went back to the kitchen table and opened it.

It had been a book he’d found on one of his outings while he’d still been in school, an educational outing his father had arranged to allow him to see the work the watcher’s council was involved in. The book seller in the tiny flea market had no clue what it was, or what it was worth. For a few pounds, Wesley had managed to purchase it with none of his companions knowing. He had gotten good about smuggling contraband into the house without his father knowing.

In fact, it had been this book that had given him the idea for the spell he crafted to loosen his father’s hold on him. It told a tale of a binding put on the first people by their gods, binding them to their laws, creating the first consciences. The people could not do wrong, because it would cause them guilt, and mental pain. Wesley had reasoned that his conscience was overly burdened with his father’s discipline and rules, and that he needed to unbind himself from it in order to gain his freedom.

Wesley opened the book and slowly turned the pages. It still smelled of the incense burned all over the market where he’d bought it. His mind translated the words as he skimmed, looking for anything that might jog his memory or spark an understanding of what he was facing.

When Cordelia returned, he was still sitting at the table, reading and making notes. She made “tsk, tsk” sounds at him and took the book away, settling him onto the couch with a pillow and the afghan his mother had sent him last Christmas and stood nearby until he dutifully closed his eyes. It didn’t take long for the fatigue to pull him under and darkness to overtake him.

 

“Wesley?” Angel moved around restlessly, lifting his head from the pillow.

“He’s sleeping.” Cordelia’s face emerged from the shadows on the side of the bed, leaning toward him. “I’m here though.”

“Cordelia?”

She smiled and nodded. “Yep. How do you feel?”

Angel closed his eyes and he fought back a wave of images: Cordelia’s face bruised and bloody, Cordelia hung from the ceiling of a cave, her blood slowly dripping into his open mouth. It felt so real. He could taste her. He licked dry lips and opened his eyes slowly. “Weak,” he finally responded. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her.

“Do you need anything?”

Angel shook his head. He needed Wesley. Somehow Wesley made it all seem real, made the images in his head feel like the dream. He was hungry, he could feel the burning inside him. He knew if he asked she would bring him blood.

That brought new images, the contaminated cups, blood laced with poisons and drugs that sent him reeling, that doubled him over in pain, and all the while she danced around him, laughing. Then the cutting would start, the chanting and cutting. Angel shook involuntarily and pulled away as Cordelia’s hand came close to him. “No.” he said almost plaintively and her hand fell away.

“Its okay, Angel.” She sat back, so that her face was hidden in the dark. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here.”

He closed his eyes and tried to block out the helplessness, the pain. It wasn’t real, some part of him knew that. The part of him that needed Wesley knew that. He could smell Cordelia, not the faint perfume that she wore, but the smell of her flesh. He tried to concentrate on the smell. This isn’t how she would smell if he had killed her. She wouldn’t be sitting in the chair watching him sleep if he killed her.

He moved a little so that he could make out the shape of her in the chair. He watched her as she seemed to doze lightly, her eyes closed, her face peaceful. In his mind she was thinner, her hair longer and darker. In his mind she was screaming and crying and begging him to stop the pain.

In his mind he could hear her taunting him, reminding him that he and Angelus were one and the same, and no mere soul was enough to stop him from his true nature.

“Cordelia?” his voice was soft, just barely above a whisper. Her eyes opened and she moved so that he could see her better. “I’m sorry.”

Her folded hands moved to grasp her knee. He couldn’t tell what he saw in her face. She looked at her hands for a moment, then looked at him again. “I know, Angel.”

“You can’t see it, what I did to you—what my head says I did to you. I—I’m sorry.”

She crossed the distance between the chair and the bed to sit on the edge beside him. It was quick, and he only started a little, then her hand was on his and he couldn’t pull away. “I want you to feel this,” she said, her hand holding his tightly. “This is me, and I’m here, right here. Those things in your head, they aren’t real. I am.”

Her eyes searched out his and held them. He saw only acceptance and affection in them. Her hand was warm against his cold skin, not hot like Wesley’s, but he felt the fear retreat a little. “Thank you,” he said softly, looking away. Her gaze was too intense for him.

She smiled again, her face brightening. He remembered she could light up a room with her smile. “Now, I can bring you some blood, if you’re hungry, but you have to promise me, no tantrums.”

He looked back at her and nodded. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

Cordelia let go of his hand and stood, looking back at him once before she slipped through the bedroom door. The room seemed to shrink around him with her gone, and he suddenly felt very alone. He couldn’t smell her, couldn’t even smell Wesley despite the fact that the room generally reeked of him.

He closed his eyes and rolled over, burying his face in the pillow. He knew what came next, and he didn’t want it. If he kept his eyes closed he wouldn’t see her, if he plugged his ears maybe he wouldn’t hear her. He felt her though, the hand on the small of his back, tracing the scars she had cut into him, murmuring the words of the spell as her nail pulled its way over it.

He rolled over again, onto his back, and felt her touch move to his arm, onto his chest. He opened his eyes and she was there, straddling him, her pointed finger poking into the circular pattern as if it alone could stake his heart and end his life, end the pain.

The door opened and she was gone, replaced by Cordelia coming in with a coffee mug. He was shaking and didn’t trust himself to speak as she handed him the mug. It was warm, comforting, even if the smell turned his stomach. It wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted Wesley, but he dutifully drank it, pulling it swiftly into his mouth and swallowing without tasting. The hunger subsided a bit. He only shook a little as he handed the cup back.

Cordelia smiled and touched his face. “You will be okay, Angel.”

He nodded, not really believing her. She set the mug down and helped rearrange the blankets around him. “I’ll just be in the next room if you need anything, okay?”

He watched her go, fighting the urge to rip at his skin, to scream, anything to keep the images from coming back. He watched them die over and over again, every time he fell asleep, and always she was there, taunting him, reminding him that he didn’t need Angelus to be cruel. Then there was the cage, the chains, the tainted blood she would feed him when the hunger was raging from days of starvation. The long hours of cutting, bleeding. He couldn’t make out which parts were real and which were the drug induced hallucinations. It all felt real.

Angel brought his hand to his face and sniffed at it. Cordelia’s scent clung to it. He tried to hold on to that scent, to the moment. He could feel the cool sheets around him, the firmness of the headboard at his back. In the dark he could make out the shapes of the furniture, the chair, the dresser. Faint lines of light outlined the bedroom door. Beyond that door he could sense Cordelia, her heart beat light, but strong. Nearby he could hear the steady breathing of Wesley sleeping. His heart beat was deeper, stronger. Then, Angel caught something unfamiliar. A third heartbeat. It was fast, faster than Cordelia’s. Smaller too somehow.

A child. He could almost make out the smell now. There was a child nearby. He listened to its heart, trying to fathom why there would be a child in Wesley’s apartment. Slowly Angel pulled himself out of the bed. He was unsteady on his feet, his head swimming and threatening to send him crashing to the floor, but he persisted. He shuffled to the chair, then the dresser and finally to the door. He clung to it for a moment, letting his head clear of the dizziness his movement had caused, and fighting down a wave of nausea.

He opened the door and squinted against the sudden light spilling from the kitchen where Cordelia was moving around. He turned toward the living room and felt relief flood him as his eyes found Wesley. It was very early in the morning, at least an hour before dawn, he could sense it.

His eyes swept his field of vision, coming to rest on the partially open door near the bathroom. It was coming from in there. He stumbled out of the bedroom, ignoring Cordelia’s surprise and lurching toward the door, catching himself on furniture and walls to keep from falling. His legs felt heavy, like he was moving through sand, but he kept moving.

Closer and closer, until he was in the room, standing in front of a crib, holding on to it tight enough for the wood to cut into his hands. The child pulled himself to standing, his tiny hands in between Angel’s, his face turned up to look at Angel who stared back. It didn’t make any sense. Angel could smell him, feel his heart beating. He knew he was real.

Yet, it couldn’t be. There was a familiarity to his smell…like someone he knew…like…Darla. Angel shook his head, watching as the child mimicked him. “No.” he whispered, fighting back another wave of nausea. It was a trick. He was hallucinating.

“Isn’t he beautiful?” he heard Cordelia ask, suddenly beside him.

Angel couldn’t respond. His head felt thick. He closed his eyes, seeing Darla in his mind as she had been when they had last been together…newly remade into a vampire. She had thought to turn him back to Angelus. He had used her and thrown her away.

“He’s mine?” he whispered it.

Cordelia touched his arm and he moved away, stepping back from the crib. “Yes, Angel. His name is Connor.”

Angel stumbled back until he felt something behind him, the rocking chair catching him as he collapsed. “Not real. Not real.” He closed his eyes, blocking out the sight of Cordelia lifting Connor from the crib.

She came to stand in front of him, holding Connor. “He is real, Angel. As real as you and me.” She knelt, settling Connor on one knee. Her hand reached out to capture Angel’s. “Feel me?” She squeezed until he nodded and opened his eyes. Then she put his hand on Connor’s face. Connor smiled, his tiny hands reaching up to touch his. Angel stared into Connor’s face, expecting it to disappear. When it didn’t Angel shuddered.

“Real?”

“Yes Angel, he’s very real.” Wesley said, coming into the room.

Connor jumped off Cordelia’s knee and went to Wesley. “Dada.”

Wesley picked him up and moved closer to Angel. “We’ve been taking care of him.”

Angel watched them, Connor clung to Wesley, but watched Angel. Wesley held Connor like a father, but watched Angel. Cordelia knelt in front of him still, her hand on his knee. It was too much. He couldn’t make it make sense. He closed his eyes. His body shook. He could hear them talking, but the words were unclear. He pulled his body in, his legs up to his chest, his head ducked under his hands. The chair rocked beneath him and he let its rhythm carry him away into the darkness.

 

Wesley watched as Angel withdrew into himself, and felt guilty for bringing Connor home so soon. He shook his head and handed Connor off to Cordelia. “I’ll see if I can get him back to bed.”

“I’ll feed Connor.”

Wesley nodded and watched her leave the room. He had hoped that having Connor and Cordelia here would help Angel. Now he worried it was too much stimulation. He went to Angel, rubbing his arms and legs to let him know he was there, kissing the top of his head, though he wasn’t sure if the gesture was meant to comfort Angel or himself.

Ever so slowly, he felt the vampire loosen up, his taut muscles going slack, his body less rigid. Wesley spoke to him quietly, touching him, kissing him gently until he could maneuver him up out of the chair. Wesley nearly carried him back to the bedroom, closing the door behind them and settling Angel onto the bed.

“There now Angel, you can rest some more.” Wesley said, tucking the blankets around Angel’s bare torso. His fingers brushed over the raised marks on Angel’s skin above the blanket. The spot above his heart was slightly bruised, making the characters seem to form a funnel, pulling everything in.

“Outside in.” Angel murmured as Wesley’s hand hovered over the spot. Wesley looked up at his face, but Angel’s eyes weren’t looking at him.

Wesley bent to kiss him, his lips brushing against Angel’s lightly. “Rest now. It will be better soon.”

Wesley emerged into the glow of the kitchen lights, squinting as he watched Cordelia give Connor his bottle along with some cereal that Wesley knew he wouldn’t eat. His eyes swept the table, the stack of his books, coming to rest on the mythology that Anna had sent home with him. “Outside in.” he said, half aloud, moving toward the books.

“What?”

“Something Angel said.” Wesley responded, pulling the book to him. He flipped the pages, his eyes scanning the page searching for something.

“Ah, here it is.” He cleared his throat and translated out loud, “And the Gods brought forth healing, the Inside Out and the Outside In, that joy and peace might emerge and pain and suffering might withdraw.”

“What?” Cordelia asked again, her hands on her hips.

“Well, taken at its most literal, it is something like ‘She who draws the external within’…the Outside In.”

“Okay…who is she?”

Wesley lowered the book. “I have no idea.”

“Well then, that was helpful.”

“It’s a start.” Wesley was about to say more when the phone rang. He set the book down and reached for the phone. “Hello?”

“Just checking in. Anna seemed to think I should call.”

“Good morning, Charles, any luck?”

“If you call spending all night following elusive clues about a raving psycho bitch luck. People who’ve seen here aren’t much with the liking of her.”

“If it were easy, Anna and her sister wouldn’t have needed us.”

“Yeah, whatever. How are things there?”

“We may have had a break through. I found a reference to something Angel’s been saying.”

“Good. I’ll call if we get any closer than hours behind her.”

“Very good, Charles. Watch your back.”

“Yeah, you too English.”

Wesley hung up the phone and settled into a chair beside Connor’s high chair. The sleep had done wonders for him, he felt almost like himself. He thought that coffee might be a good idea, and before he could do more than think it, Cordelia was setting a cup in front of him.

“Its fresh. I figured you’d want some.”

He smiled at her and wrapped his hands around the cup. It was hot, and the heat felt good. “Thank you.”

She sat opposite him, and lowered her head into her hands. It was a posture he was familiar with. “You’ve had a vision.”

She nodded. “Pretty ugly one.”

He sat up a little straighter. “What was it?”

She swallowed and gingerly shook her head. “I wish I knew. At first it was Angel, being all suicidal, staking himself. Then it went woosh and I saw Buffy die, only it was Buffy like when she first came to Sunnydale, and then there was fire in the sky and chaos, and then it all went dark.” There were tears in her eyes as they met his. “It hurt, Wesley, like my body was being torn apart.”

Wesley sipped at his coffee. The visions had been bad before, but what he saw in her eyes was different. Something about this one was different. “When you say it went dark—“

“Like nothing. I was still in the vision, but everything was gone. The world was gone.”

“That’s not good.” Wesley murmured.

“Duh.” She rubbed at her temples. “What does it mean?”

“Well, if Buffy had died when she first came to Sunnydale, how many apocalypses would not have been averted? Anyone of them could have turned out the lights.”

“But Buffy didn’t die.”

Wesley nodded in agreement. Perhaps there was something about Angel staking himself? Maybe it had something to do with the markings on him. “What if the characters carved into his skin are words to a spell?” he mused out loud.

“To do what?”

Wesley shrugged, “End the world?” It was insane, he knew that, but his brain was starting to work. “I’d know better if I could translate even some of it.”

“So, translate.” Cordy said, releasing Connor from his high chair as he started throwing Cheerios at them.

“Right.” Wesley nodded and rose to start gathering books and journals to get started. “Why don’t you get some rest. I’ll take care of Connor.”

Cordelia yawned and moved toward the couch. “Wake me if you need me.” She settled under the afghan and closed her eyes.

Connor toddled over to Wesley and pointed to Cordelia. “Dee seep.”

Wesley smiled at him. “Yes, we need to be very quiet and let Cordelia sleep. Can we do that?”

Connor’s eyes were bright and he nodded. “There’s my very good boy.” Wesley kissed Connor’s forehead and watched him settle in to play with his favorite stuffed toy, then set about his own quiet time, with the Kalvi book and the mythology as his guides.


	4. Chapter 4

Wesley set down his pen and stretched his arms and back before standing. The apartment was still, quiet. Cordelia slept peacefully on the couch. Connor was down for a nap. He’d spent hours combing through his books developing a working theory and a rudimentary understanding of Kalvi, with the hope that it would help him decipher whatever was written on Angel.

Now, he needed to actually work with the markings, which meant convincing Angel to allow him to look and touch. Quietly, Wesley moved to the bedroom, slipping in without knocking and closing the door behind him. Somehow he didn’t want Cordelia to know, about his feelings, about the feeding, about the intimacy that had built between the two men. It was private, and she wouldn’t understand.

Wesley moved silently to the bed. Angel was asleep, though his face was contorted in an expression of pain. Wesley undressed down to his boxers and climbed in beside him. The cool of the sheets echoed the cool of Angel’s skin as Wesley moved close and let their legs touch.

He wanted the waking to be gentle for a change, wanted Angel to open his eyes to see him, not wait to be chased from his slumber by the nightmares. Wesley let his fingers wander up Angel’s arm, over his chest…down his flat stomach. He could feel Angel beginning to stir and shifted so that he was on his side, his body pressed against Angel’s. His hand moved to caress his face, one long finger sliding over dry lips. How often had Wesley thought about those lips?

Now he leaned in and ever so softly kissed them, barely touching his lips to Angel’s. His breath warmed Angel’s skin so that the second kiss seemed softer somehow. His lips closed over Angel’s and he deepened the kiss, feeling Angel respond. He pulled back to find Angel’s eyes open, watching him. He smiled and Angel leaned in to kiss him this time, raising his head from the pillow.

He felt Angel’s tongue slide over his lips and opened them, accepting him in, slipping his own tongue over Angel’s as Angel’s hands found their way to his hips. Wesley’s leg was between Angel’s now and he could feel the hardening of Angel’s cock. He wasn’t ready to go there yet…not with Cordelia in the next room.

Wesley rolled so that he was straddling Angel, one knee on either side of his legs. He held his uninjured wrist toward Angel’s mouth. “Want?” he asked in playful tones. He could see the desire in Angel’s face, even before his brow thickened and his teeth became fangs. Then there was the sharp pain, the dizzying draw. When Angel pulled back, Wesley pressed toward him, insisting he take more. “Good.” Wesley murmured. He could feel Angel’s cock hard against his ass, but chose to ignore it. “I need you here with me Angel. We have work to do,” he said as Angel pulled away a second time.

He brought his bleeding wrist to his own mouth, instinctively sucking at the wound. He could taste Angel on his skin. That made his own cock twitch.

“Want.” Angel said, pulling Wesley down to him so that he could kiss him again. Wesley melted into the urgent desire of Angel’s lips, losing himself in a moment he had once convinced himself would never happen. Then he remembered himself and pulled away.

“Not now, Angel,” he said, with great difficulty, moving off of him and to the side. Angel sat up, his hands touching Wesley’s bare skin.

“Want,” he said again, this time reaching for Wesley’s crotch. His eyes met Wesley’s, clear, determined. His hand stroked through Wesley’s boxer shorts, bringing him rapidly to a full erection. His kiss was gentler this time, capturing Wesley’s lips and lingering there before sliding off and kissing down to his neck. “Need you, Wesley,” he whispered in Wesley’s ear before he was nipping and sucking at the tender spot just between the neck and shoulder.

Angel’s hands fumbled a little as they withdrew Wesley’s hard cock from his boxers, but they knew what they were doing once it was free. Wesley closed his eyes as Angel fondled him, praying he could stay quiet and not wake Cordelia. “Want.” Angel pulled him down again, and Wesley required little prompting to take up a position between Angel’s spread legs.

Angel’s hands positioned Wesley so that the head of his cock was nestled in Angel’s ass cheeks. Wesley looked at him, his eyes filled with question. “Are you sure, Angel?”

Angel smiled, “Want.”

Wesley closed his eyes as he moved, slowly pushing himself inside, then just was slowly back out. He wanted to savor it, but his body had other notions. Already he was close to coming, just from the mere thought that this was happening. His thrusts became swifter, his left hand moving to stroke Angel’s hard cock in rhythm with his own movements. He watched Angel’s back arch and felt his toes curling.

Angel came, wetting Wesley’s hand and Wesley lost himself in his orgasm, collapsing onto Angel’s chest. He hadn’t meant for it to go so far, not now. He’d only wanted to wake Angel gently. Breathing heavily, Wesley pushed himself up and off of Angel, standing quickly and looking for something to change into.

“Wesley.”

“I’m sorry Angel. I shouldn’t have let that happen.” Wesley pulled on a pair of jeans and turned. Angel sat on the edge of the bed.

“Wesley, its okay.”

“No, it isn’t. I shouldn’t—“ Wesley shook his head. There were so many things he shouldn’t, but suddenly he could put words to none of them.  
Angel pushed himself to standing, swayed a little with the effort, then took two steps to Wesley’s side. “When I’m with you, I know what is real,” he said softly, taking one of Wesley’s hands. “When I taste you, I know where I am, and that I am safe.”

Wesley closed his eyes. Angel’s nearness made him hot, weak. “I shouldn’t take advantage of you like this,” Wesley said after a long pause.

Angel only responded by kissing the hand that he held, then slowly sinking into the chair. “Big boy,” he said, and Wesley was fairly certain he saw a smirk before Angel’s face went slack again.

“Are you okay?” Wesley asked, moving closer.

Angel nodded slowly. “Feel…strange…like…” His face went even paler than normal and his body started to shake. “She’s near…I can feel her.” Angel slowly drew his legs up to his chest and clutched them, rocking his body like he had in his first days there. “She’s going to hurt me,…stop the hurt….” Suddenly his head popped up and Wesley could see the terror. “Don’t let her—Don’t let her touch me—“

“Who Angel?”

“Outside in….Outside In….Naan.”

“Shh…its okay, Angel. You’re safe here.”

“No…not safe…hurts….”

“Angel.” Wesley rubbed Angel’s exposed skin, drew his face up to look at him. “We will get through this. I think I know who she is. I need to read you so I can know what her plans are, so we can stop her.” Angel’s eyes closed. “Can you stay with me, Angel? I need you.”

It took a long moment, but those dark eyes eventually opened. There was still fear there, but he had some measure of control over it now. Tightly, he nodded. “We need to move out to the kitchen, where I can see, where there’s enough light to see.”

Angel nodded again, taking the shorts Wesley handed him and slowly pulling them on over his naked body. He stood even more slowly, as if each movement might bring the panic bobbing to the surface. When Wesley held out his hand to steady him, Angel clung to it, shuffling on weak legs out of the bedroom and into the light space beyond. He blinked in the light, holding to Wesley and moving a little at a time until Wesley turned him and settled him onto the stool. Angel’s eyes moved through the shadow and light of the space, dancing over the drawn curtains and Cordelia’s form on the couch.

“Where…” Angel’s eyes moved to the nursery door. “Sleeping?”

Wesley nodded. “Yes, he wore himself out playing with toys he hasn’t seen in a week. He’s been with Fred.”

“Fred.”

“You remember Fred, don’t you?”

Angel nodded. In his false memories she was one of the first casualties of his fall from grace. He’d cut her… a little at a time, and drank her blood from the finest crystal in the hotel kitchen. Wesley moved behind him, his fingers skimming the surface of his skin, looking for a place to begin.

Angel tried to ignore the touch, so much like hers. Instead he concentrated on the blood in his stomach, Wesley’s blood. It felt good. He wasn’t full by any means, but it was clean, strong. It didn’t taste of Styrofoam or drugs, just Wesley. He could feel it working in him, restoring his body, even if it did little to restore his mind.

His eyes went back to roaming the room. He started a little when he realized that Cordelia was awake and looking at him. He started even more as a quick staccato knock on the door brought Cordelia to her feet.. Wesley’s hand on his shoulder kept him from bolting as Cordelia opened the door carefully.

Gunn slipped inside, followed by two women. Angel could tell Gunn by his smell and profile, but the two women stayed in the dark, behind Gunn. Wesley turned to them.

“Sorry for interrupting.” Gunn said. “We think she’s in the area.”

“She is.” Angel said. His eyes were riveted to the two women. Slowly, almost as one, they stepped closer. He jumped, clinging to Wesley and closing his eyes for a moment. He opened them again, startled that they had come so close. They were so much alike, their faces, the smell.

“This must be Angel.” Anna said, her voice soothing. Angel could feel her voice inside him, gliding over the places that hurt and easing the pain. He nodded. “I’m Anna, Angel. This is Anan. We can help you, if you let us.”

His hand sought out Wesley’s, pulling him closer. Some part of him knew that Anna was not his tormentor, but his mind saw her face surrounded with dark, matted hair, saw her warm smile warped into a sneer. He swallowed as he watched her arm moving toward him and pulled away. It was Anan’s hand that touched him first though and he jolted as if the touch were fire, burning into his skin.

His eyes closed as more calm filled him and he could almost sense the two women in his mind, urging stillness. Anan, like a solid pillar of dark red and behind her, connected by glowing strings of light was Anna, a white-yellow ball of energy. Beside him he felt another presence, cool, protective. He didn’t have to look to know it would be Wesley.

“Let go, Angel.” Anan’s voice said. He swallowed his panic and felt her touch inside him, bringing the quiet and the dark, blessing him with a place where the nightmares and memories wouldn’t find him.

 

When Anan touched Angel’s face, her other hand clasped lightly in Anna’s, the room seemed to fill with light, Anna’s features disappearing in the swirl of energy. Wesley felt Angel’s hand go slack in his, felt his body relax. Then the light diminished, though Wesley was fairly certain Anna was still glowing.

For a long moment, nobody moved or spoke. Angel sat still, his eyes closed, his face peaceful. Wesley took his hand away from Angel’s and crossed his arms. “I hope you plan on explaining this,” he said. He sensed no malice in Anan, and Anna had been with them for nearly a year. He was beginning to suspect that she was much more than a simple witch.

“We’ve helped him go deep enough inside that Naan won’t be able to reach him.” Anan turned squarely to Wesley. “We need to figure out how she’s using him, before she gets here.”

Wesley looked at them both, pieces of the puzzle still falling into place. “Naan is the one who brings the external within.” His eyes moved from Anan’s to Anna’s. “You must be the one who brings the internal out.”

Anna met his eyes evenly. “That is a very loose translation, Wesley, but I think you’re beginning to understand.”

He nodded and turned back to Anan. “Then who are you?”

She sighed and stepped away. “I am the conscience, the mediator, the focus. Together we heal the wounds of humanity.”

“This don’t look like healing to me.” Gunn said, gesturing at Angel.

Anan sank to a seat on a chair near the table. “No, this is what comes when were are separated.” She picked up the mythology book that Wesley had found his first clue in. “This doesn’t tell the whole story. Not that I blame them. This will tell you of Anna and Naan, two children born to heal the world. Anna was given the gift to feel the joy and love of the world, and to radiate it outward. Naan was given the gift to feel the pain and suffering of the world, and take it within herself. Together, they were destined to do much good.”

She looked up at the expectant faces. “Of course, no one bargained on the fact that they were only children, that they had no idea how to use their gifts, how to control the powers that came with being the children of gods. Their mortal bodies were still those of children when Naan could no longer bear the pain and began to lash out at others. That is when I was created.”

“Created?” Cordelia had moved closer, and Gunn was now leaning on the kitchen counter.

Anan nodded. “Yes, magically. I don’t remember much about it. I was two pieces, one of Naan, one of Anna and then I was Anan, fully myself and yet a part of both. I formed something of a conduit between them, as well as between them and the world at large. Naan’s pain helped us to keep Anna connected to the world, while Anna’s joy and peace enabled us to keep Naan’s pain from overwhelming her.”

“It worked for a time.” Anna picked up the narrative and all eyes moved to her. “Until we were nine or ten. There was war and destruction, and a foreign king sought to bring healing and peace to his country by stealing me. The further away they took me, the weaker my connection to my sister’s became. Anan could no longer ease Naan. Our powers had grown, and Naan’s lashing out became a fury that threatened to consume the world. She sought to end her pain, but her pain was the world’s pain and in her mind it would only end with the world’s end.”

“Suicide by Apocalypse, not my first choice.” Wesley said, shaking his head. “So is it safe to assume that she is looking to do the same now?”

Anan nodded. “Yes, that would be my guess. I just don’t know how.”

“And you think Angel is the key?”

“She is using him. Gunn filled us in on Angel’s…ordeal. Chances are we can read the code and figure it out.” She stood and moved to stand behind Angel.

“I’ve tried to read it, but can’t find a translation guide.” Wesley said, moving with her.

“You wouldn’t. It’s a language we made up as children. Anna.”

Anna joined her sister, once again joining hands. The glow began again, but didn’t build to the same intensity. They moved in tandem around Angel’s still body, never touching, reading across his back, down his arms, up his legs and over his chest. For a long time they stood silent in front of him, staring at the circular pattern over his heart.

The light grew in intensity, then faded away. The sisters separated. Anan’s face had grown pale and it took her a moment to find her voice. “Our time away has seen Naan grow powerful, and creative,” she said at last.

“What does it say?” Wesley asked, glancing at the nursery door. Cordelia saw him look and moved to check on Connor.

It was Anna who responded, her voice small and weak. “She has turned him into a walking booby trap. If the entire text is read aloud, or if he is staked, he will cease to exist, all good and bad he has ever accomplished will disappear, all memory of him erased.”

“And any apocalypse he averted brings the world to an end.”

“It need not even be his actions that averted it.” Anan said, sounding weary. “A life he saved, an influence he made on another.”

“Just imagine any of your lives without ever knowing him.” Anna said, looking up at the sleepy Connor that Cordelia was bringing out of the nursery. “It would all end, and the world, as you know it, would be gone.”

 

The room was silent for a long moment, until Conner squirmed about in Cordelia’s arms to be put down, asking to be fed. Numbly, Wesley moved through to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle he’d made earlier in the day. 

Without Angel, none of them would be where they were, least of all Connor, and Wesley couldn’t imagine what that would be like. Buffy would have died sooner, Kendra might not have died at Drusilla’s hands, Faith might never have been called. Without Faith, Wesley would never have gone to Sunnydale, he wouldn’t have suffered her torture. As much as he despised her for it, he knew that it had been a significant step in who he had become. 

Wesley realized that he’d drifted off in his thoughts as Connor’s hands pulled on his pant legs and he squatted down to hand off the bottle. “Sorry, Dada’s a little distracted.”

He watched Connor sink onto the floor and stick the bottle in his mouth before he stood and faced the group. “So what happens now?”

“As long as Angel doesn’t get staked, and you can’t read the writing, the world continues pretty much as it has.” Anan said. “Provided we can get Naan and you can re-bind us.”

“You were bound together?” Wesley considered everything they’d learned so far.

“When we, Naan and I, were reunited with Anna, the wizards who had created me crafted a spell to bind us together as one within a talisman. Almost two years ago, we found ourselves in a vault in Vienna, freed. The talisman was destroyed and we were unbound.”

“What happened?” Cordy asked.

Anan shrugged. “We aren’t entirely sure. Naan took off before Anna and I were fully aware of what was going on. By the time we set out to find her, our connection to her was strained.”

“I suggested we understand the time and place we found ourselves in, so that our search might be easier. My gifts had grown, as our bodies obviously had, and we followed the visions.“ Anna’s natural color was returning after draining in response to what she had read etched in Angel’s skin. “I don’t see everything. Much like Cordelia I get flashes of sights, sounds, feelings. I didn’t know anything about Angel when I came to you. I knew that I was needed here, and that by being here, I would find Naan.”

“She’s getting closer.” Anan said, shifting on her feet. “She’ll be feeling us too by now. She’ll either come to us, or run the other way, depending on how far gone she is.”

“Pretty far.” Anna whispered. Wesley looked at her, and saw an echo of what he’d been seeing in Angel’s eyes for the last week.

“Did you—I mean, could you see what happened to him? What she did?” he asked, returning to his place at Angel’s side.

Together Anna and Anan nodded. Angel stirred as Wesley touched him, but didn’t open his eyes. “Can you…make him forget?”

Anna smiled softly, putting a hand over Wesley’s. He felt calm rush into him with her touch. “We could, but it would do little to help him. The work she has done is extensive, and if we take away the memory of it, it will bring him peace for a time, but the fear and the guilt will still be there, the behaviors learned because of them will still be there. Only through the memory can he find his way back to himself.”

Wesley nodded, a part of him wanting to push back the peace she was offering him. He had no right feeling happy, not when all of this came down to something he caused. He pulled his hand away.

“Gunn, its time to go to my father again. He has something we’re going to need if we’re going to join Anna and her sisters together again.”

“You think he’ll give it me?”

Wesley shook his head as he bent over the table and scribbled a note. “No. Your job is to make sure he understands that our accepting his offer of alliance depends on his getting it here as quickly as humanly, or magically, possible.” He folded the note and handed it to him. “Make it very clear that if he wants our assistance with their little problem, he’ll see to this with the utmost urgency.”

“Are you sure that’s wise, Wes? Offering alliance with them?” Cordelia moved into the living room, reaching for the blanket she had dropped to the floor upon rising. “These are the people who did the spell thing that turned Angel all psycho.”

“There will be no alliance, Cordelia, we only need to make them think that there will be. There is very little that will make my father allow me anything I desire, one of them is the Watcher’s Council. I aim to use that to get us what we need, namely the original spell I crafted when I was 16, and the source material that goes with it.”

“Damn, that’s messed up.” Gunn said, pocketing the note. 

Wesley smiled uncomfortably. “Yes, Charles. My father and I have a…difficult relationship.” He turned Gunn toward the door. “He’s probably very irritated at our lack of response so you should go now and prevent him anymore frustration.”

Connor crawled into the living room and to Wesley’s feet. He seemed content to sit there, so Wesley let him be. “Cordelia, I’m going to need some supplies from the magic shop on West Grand.”

“I’m shopping girl. Just tell me what I’m getting. You want me to take Connor?”

“If you don’t mind. It will be easier to set up without him here.” He handed her a second page of scribbled notes.

“Come on Connor, let’s get you dressed. Aunt Cordy’s gonna take you shopping!”

“Dee! Shop!” Connor stood and reached for Cordelia with enthusiasm that made her smile.

“Anna, you and Anan should stay here, in case Naan comes. Besides, I think we’re better off keeping you together for now.” He had an ulterior motive that he kept to himself for the moment, pushing it away without really acknowledging it. “In the meantime, I should get Angel back into bed.”

Anna sighed and sank into the couch. Anan moved to Angel’s side, her hand covering his eyes and her face softening. In a few moments Cordelia emerged from the nursery and waved her goodbye as she left and Anan drew her hand away. Angel’s eyes were open and he looked more himself than he had in a long time.

“Wesley?”

Wesley smiled. “Welcome back.”

“Was I gone?”

“In a manner of speaking. Shall we get you up and into bed?”

Angel looked at Anan and blinked. “Naan.”

Anan shook her head. “No, Angel. She isn’t here.”

He considered it for a moment. “You smell like her.”

“I imagine I do. It’s complicated.”

“She won’t hurt you, Angel.” Wesley said, slipping his arm around Angel’s back to help him stand. He was a little stronger on his feet, and he leaned less on Wesley than before as they moved to the bedroom.

Wesley helped him into the bed, drawing the sheets and blanket up around his naked torso and sitting on the bed beside him. “Are you okay?”

Angel nodded slowly. “Better, at least.” He held Wesley’s hand loosely. “I meant what I said earlier, Wes. I need you. When the nightmares are the worst, it’s your voice, your smell…your taste that reminds me what is real.”

“Angel—I…I don’t—“ Wesley fumbled for words, looking down at their joined hands. “I have always…loved you. I never wanted—I never thought you—“

Angel squeezed his hand. “I’ve always been a little slow Wes. If I had known—If I could have believed that you would—“ He chuckled softly. “I guess neither one of us is good at this part.”

Wesley smiled and nodded. “I’d say not.” They sat quietly for a moment. “I came to kill you—that night, I mean. When I found you.” He wouldn’t look at Angel. “I-when you left you were…evil. I wasn’t going to let you hurt us again.”

“Wesley, you should have staked me that night in the warehouse. I gave you enough opportunity. Hell, I’d bet Gunn told you to do it when you brought me here. I certainly wouldn’t have argued.”

Wesley looked up and there were tears in his eyes. “Yes, well, there will be no staking anytime soon.” He laid a hand on Angel’s chest, one finger tracing the pattern over his heart. “Staking you now would not only result in dust in my bed, but everything we know would be gone. You would never have existed.” Wesley leaned forward and kissed the spot. “From this point forward, we defend this spot with our lives.” He whispered.

His kiss was fierce then, his lips capturing Angel’s, his tongue plundering his mouth. He poured every ounce of his affection, his passion, his love into that kiss, wanting it to be enough to make Angel realize how much was invested in keeping him alive.

When he pulled away he wiped at the tears. “You should sleep.”

“I don’t want to sleep, Wes.” Angel moved under the blanket, sitting up against the headboard. “When I sleep I forget. The dreams…and she comes…and…”

“Shh…I know, Angel. I know. But sleep will help make you stronger. I’ll be right here when you wake up. And when we catch Naan, we’re going to make it so she can’t hurt anyone again.”

Angel closed his eyes. “Wesley, I’ve done some pretty terrible things…but Naan…its like…” His voice trailed off, unable to find a suitable analogy.

Wesley kissed him again, softly this time. “Its okay, Angel. I’m right here. Sleep.”

“Stay with me?”

Wesley nodded and climbed up to sit beside Angel, holding his hand and watching over him as slowly sleep came to claim him.

 

When Wesley was sure that Angel was indeed sleeping, he got up from the bed. He could hear Anna and Anan in the next room, and somehow their presence was irritating. He felt left out, that they had seen, that they knew what Angel had gone through and he didn’t. He needed to know, every instinct in him wanted it. His reasoning told him it wasn’t necessary. What would it gain? Would he really be any better off for watching this man he loved tortured into insanity?

Wesley suspected that the more pertinent reason for the need had to do with his own torture at Angel’s hands, and the human desire for vengeance. Wesley paced around the confines of the room. Damn, why did he always have to have the complex relationships? Couldn’t he once just love someone who loved him back and everything was normal?

Making up his mind, Wesley opened the door and caught Anan’s eye, beckoning her to him with little more than a thought and the movement of his eyes. He moved to let her into the bedroom, then closed the door behind her.

“Angel said something to me before he fell asleep. He said that Naan has been coming to him when he sleeps. Is it astral projection or some such? Is it possible she’s actually getting in here and hurting him?”

Anan shrugged. “I don’t know. Their powers have grown considerably. We’re still figuring out what Anna can do. I have no idea about Naan.”

“Is there a way you can tell?”

“I can try to read him.” 

“Can you—“ Wesley swallowed and looked at his feet. “I need to know what she did to him.”

“I don’t think you do.” 

He met her eyes, his conviction showing in his face. “If I am to help him find a way back to himself, I have to know what path brought him so far away from it.” He looked to Angel and back. “I need to know.”

“For you…or for him?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with knowledge.

“For us both.”

She nodded once, then moved to the bed. “Stand behind me. Put your hands on my shoulders. If it gets too intense for you, let go. It will sever the connection.” She sat on the edge of the bed, in easy reach of Angel’s head and Wesley moved into position. “Now close your eyes and try to center. I’ll enter your mind first, then his.”

Wesley stilled, and felt the strange sensation of a voice in his head that wasn’t his. Anan encouraged his self control, taking him deeper with a swooping feeling that made him sway a little on his feet. Then they were standing side by side in a room that vaguely resembled his bedroom and she was reaching for Angel. The world spun and they were inside Angel’s disordered mind. The scene flickered around them, from the bedroom to the hotel to a hundred other places. People floated through the scenery, Cordelia, Wesley, Buffy, and then she was there: Naan.

She looked much like her sisters, though her hair was black and matted and wild. There was no air of peace here, no calm, no care. He was alone with her, Anan was gone. His hands and feet were bound to the wall, spread-eagle. He was afraid, dizzy. It took him a moment to realize he was feeling Angel’s emotion, that he was, essentially, Angel. She was coming toward him with a black bowl. The stench of blood laced with some poison nearly made him retch. The taste was vile as she poured it into him, laughing as she murmured some phrases under her breath that made him swallow. “Drink like a good boy, don’t let your friend Wesley go to waste.” 

When she moved away, Wesley could see himself, hung on the opposite wall, his naked body covered in bite marks. He shuddered, feeling the poison spread through him. The murmuring changed to a language he didn’t understand and he felt the first cut on his thigh. Slowly, she cut small, shallow marks, murmuring her spell as he bled, and yelled out until he was hoarse. 

Wesley was vaguely aware of Anan’s presence, calling him out of the memory, but he couldn’t seem to respond. He felt Angel’s consciousness fading and faded with him, out of the reach of Naan’s blade and into the nightmares fueled by the poison and his own guilty conscience. 

Darkness and colors swirled around him, making him feel as though he were falling, and when he landed he was in the lobby of the Hyperion. Blood spattered the walls and floor. The windows and doors had been painted black. Fred was tied to the railing of the second floor, though from the looks had been dead for several days. The smell of rotting flesh was overpowering.

Somehow he knew that Cordelia and Gunn were dead, though not here. His arms felt heavy. He looked down and found himself carrying the unconscious form of Buffy Summers.

Buffy was bruised, battered. Her right arm dangled in a way that hinted it might be dislocated at the shoulder. Up the stairs he went, carrying her down the hall and into the ruined room that had once been Angel’s. The bed was upended, tables smashed to kindling. There was evidence that a fire had broken out in one corner of the room. He dropped Buffy to the floor and opened the closet. On the floor, bound and naked was…himself.

It was apparent Angel had fed from him, bite marks dotted arms and legs. Wesley felt himself—Angel—laugh as he knelt in front of the cowering Wesley. “I brought you some company, Wes.”

The sound of movement drew his attention to the room behind him and turning, he found Buffy awake and watching him, her eyes wide. “Angel?”

“What’s the matter, Buffy? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“What’s going on?”

Wesley/Angel moved closer to Buffy, leaving the bound and naked Wesley . “I brought you here because I need you,” he said, touching her face gently. “Don’t you remember? I told you on the phone.”

“What-Why is Wesley tied up?”

Wesley/Angel sat next to Buffy, looking in at Wesley. “So he can watch.”

With that he grabbed her by the wrists, yanking her arms up over her head and straddling her already broken body. Wesley felt his face changing, felt a desire for blood and violence sweep through him, then the taste of blood filled his mouth. He wanted to retch, to be free of Angel’s memory. Then he saw her.

Naan hovered near them, her voice whispering to him. “Make it last, little one. Don’t kill her too quickly.” She danced around them. “There’s more pain in this one. There’s heartbreak…there’s desire unfulfilled…there’s grief. We must milk it before you drink it.”

Wesley/Angel pulled off of Buffy’s neck, and Wesley could feel her blood moving through him. He laughed as he saw the fury in the face of the captive Wesley. “What’s the matter Wes? Want to try some?” He kissed him then, his mouth still dripping with Buffy’s blood, his tongue invading Wesley’s mouth. “Or maybe it’s something else you’re wanting? Are you ready for me yet, Wes?”

Wesley/Angel bit his wrist and shoved it in Captive Wesley’s face, pressing the bleeding wound against his mouth. No sooner had Captive Wesley given in and opened his mouth, and Wesley/Angel pulled away, standing and laughing. “No, not yet. Soon, but not yet.”

He turned around, tripping over the unconscious form of the slayer and falling forward, falling into the darkness and swirling sounds of voices cursing him and calling to him, and back into the dark cave where Naan still cut away at his leg. He could feel blood running down his skin, could smell it. His body shook.

Naan finished and stood, her hands bloody. She looked at him, her eyes going dark as she looked at him. “You!”

Wesley got the distinct impression that she saw him, and at the same time, felt the sudden presence of Anan beside him. In that instant he was outside of Angel, and Anan and Naan faced one another.

“Naan, please come back to us. We need you.”

“No, no. It must end. I will make it stop!” Naan paced agitatedly in front of them. “Go away!” 

Wesley felt the pressure of her will against him and retreated a step. Anan came with him. Then the world was spinning again, and he felt his physical body suddenly around him, felt his hands falling from Anan’s shoulders and his knees collapsing beneath him. He heard Anan call for Anna, just before he succumbed to the darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

Wesley floated in a pool of serene blue light. Angel lay beside him, their bodies touching, connected. He knew if he moved Angel would as well. He felt safer and more comforted than he had since…well since he could remember.

He clung to the feeling, and was surprised to feel it clinging back. That was when he recognized Anna, the light surrounding him and buffering him from the world was Anna. As he acknowledged her she withdrew a little, and Wesley could feel his physical body again. He was on the floor, and he ached as if having just fought a battle. She pulled back a little more and he could move, slowly stretching muscles that stayed taut and tense. He wasn’t ready to try lifting his head. He aimed instead for trying to remember what had happened. He’d been inside Angel’s memory with Anan, and Naan had attacked them.

He remembered now. He could feel her hands on him. It seemed real, as if she had physically touched him. He exhaled slowly and felt Anna retreat from his mind all together. He opened his eyes. Anna knelt beside him, her face glowing. Angel was asleep on the bed, and if he closed his eyes, he could feel Anna’s influence over the sleeping vampire.

Anan stood, her right hand locked in Anna’s left hand, the other holding a third sister. Naan. Wesley sat up, instantly regretting it as it made his head swim. The dark haired sister didn’t move, in fact other than the hand Anan held, Naan seemed curled up in a tiny ball. “She won’t harm you now.” Anna said softly, though her eyes were slightly unfocused. “We’re working on her rage. She fought us at first, but is starting to respond.”

Wesley watched them for what seemed an eternity, the light ebbing and flowing around and through them as they silently fed peace and tranquility into their sister. Finally the light emanating from Anna and Anan faded to a soft glow, and Anna looked up. “She will be compliant as long as Anan is touching her.”

“We should move her out of this room. If Angel sees her—“

“Angel will sleep a while longer. I will stay with him until you and Anan can contain Naan in the other room.”

Wesley got to his feet, testing his weight against the floor as if he wasn’t sure his legs would hold him. He swallowed hard as he looked at Naan. She was so like her sisters, though somehow Anna’s features on Naan looked harsh and unforgiving. Scenes from the memories he shared with Angel flashed through his mind. “I know what you’re afraid of,” she had whispered it to him in the middle of the attack and it reverberated through his mind. He swayed a little on his feet, then felt Anna blanket him again. “He’s not ready,” he heard her say.

He shook his head. “No, I’m okay.” He willed his mind to order, pushing the memory aside and concentrating on the present moment. Slowly, Anna withdrew again. “I’m fine. Shall we?”

Anan held Naan by the hand and coaxed her to standing upright. Then they were moving out of the bedroom and into the living room. Anna closed the bedroom door behind them, and Wesley could feel her touch on Angel’s sleeping consciousness.

“We will need to contain her.” Anan said. “Both of us actually.”

“A magical barrier?” Wesley asked, already knowing the answer.

“I see Anna’s ahead of me, and already gave you the knowledge.”

Wesley smiled. “I-I would have to say yes. I’m going to call Cordelia, we’ll need some things.”

Anan settled Naan into a kitchen chair, then pulled another with her leg and sat beside her. Naan looked dazed, her eyes vacant. Wesley pulled out his cell phone and dialed Cordelia.

“What’s up Wes?”

“Are you still at the shop?”

“Just leaving. Did you need something else?”

“Yes, I’ll need three large crystals and three spheres of hematite. Tell the proprietor that they’re for me and he shouldn’t give you too hard a time.”

“Anything else?”

Wesley paused for a moment. “Could you track down Gunn, give him the supplies, and take Connor back to your place for the next few days? Things could get pretty tense around here.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Cordelia. We have Naan.”

“Oh, right. My place it is. Dennis will love to see him.”

Wesley shook his head. “I’m sure Connor will love it too.” Connor seemed to love the ghost inhabiting Cordelia’s apartment, playing with him peacefully for hours whenever he was there. “I’ll call you when we know more.”

Wesley didn’t like having Naan in his apartment, not with Angel in the next room. He didn’t like that he didn’t have the means to fix this mess without resorting to threatening his father and the Watcher’s council…not to mention the waiting for the materials he needed to figure out how he’d caused the mess in the first place. He had a vague idea, but it had been so long since he’d done the research and crafted the spell, he couldn’t remember all of the details.

He knew that the three sisters had been bound together and bound into the talisman. He had since surmised that the ancient spell he had found in Baghdad had been the very same that had bound them together. He had used its format in reverse to create a spell that would unbind him from his father’s will, from the programming that had turned him into a cowering, impotent replication of his father, one that would never live up to the expectations of a parent who wanted only one thing, perfection.

Somehow, he had done more than use the format, but he wasn’t sure how. He imagined he might have included key phrases from the original, though that alone did not seem to be enough to have unbound the sisters from their spell.

There was a knock at the door, interrupting Wesley from his thoughts. He went to answer it, peering through the peep hole, then turning away in surprise. His father’s face was red with emotion, probably anger. He looked directly at the peep hole and raised his cane to knock again. Wesley took a deep breath and opened the door, stepping through it and closing it before his father could enter.

“You look ridiculous, boy.” Roger Wyndham-Pryce said, clearly startled by Wesley’s appearance and actions. His eyes swept over the jeans and t-shirt and the scruffy chin disapprovingly.

“Why are you here, Father?” Wesley stood between his father and the door. The last thing he needed was his father included in the mess he already had under his roof. He raised his eyes to meet his father’s and blanched white. In his mind he saw himself, a vampire, feeding from Roger’s throat, Angel drinking from his wrist. He could taste the blood. His heart was racing and his body filled with a sudden desire to cause bodily harm to the man in front of him.

“Dear God boy, are you all right?” The old man took a step closer and Wesley waved him away.

“It is not a good time. I thought my sending Charles to see you would make that perfectly clear.”

“That boy of yours is unschooled in manners and dresses like a hooligan,” his father blustered.

Wesley nodded. “Yes, and he’s killed more vampires and demons in his young life than many slayers do their whole careers. Why are you here?”

The older man’s eyes narrowed. Wesley wanted to pummel his face, strangle him. He swallowed and refocused. “Your demands are unacceptable.”

Wesley laughed. “You came to me, remember? You wanted our help…our help to deal with a problem that you created. You are the one who used that spell, released the big, bad nasty into the world all because of your greedy need to kill Angel without getting your hands dirty. You simply cannot stand the fact that someone who goes against your precious principles and rules might possibly redeem himself. And now, because of your actions someone I love has been emotionally and mentally shattered, and the nasty thing you came to get our help with will happen with nothing we can do to stop it if Angel actually does die. How is that for irony?”

Wesley had unconsciously taken several steps forward, and forced himself to stop, his fists clenching and unclenching at his side. “Behind that door is the result of you using that spell, Father. Behind that door,” he pointed at the apartment door, “lies a vampire with a soul whose entire body has been marred and scarred with a spell that could destroy the world. It culminates around his heart. If he gets staked, it will trigger that spell, and he will disappear from all of time. He will never have existed. Even you can recognize what that could mean.”

Roger was a little paler, some of the red gone from his skin. His eyes were fixed on the door. “He’s in there? I should have known you couldn’t do the job-“

“Get the spell. Get it soon, or I will let the person who did this to Angel know who is responsible for her pain.” Wesley turned on his heel and reentered the apartment, slamming the door shut and collapsing onto the couch, almost in a single motion. He shook with the effort it had taken not to physically attack the man. His mind replayed the false memory, the feeling of his sharp teeth penetrating skin, the warmth of the blood as it flowed into him. Suddenly he was retching, his body convulsing as he leaned forward, unable to even attempt making it the bathroom. The world spun as he vomited and he tried to block the image, the emotion.

He felt her coming, the cool, soothing presence slipping up on him and wrapping him in peace. The image retreated, his stomach stilled. Wesley breathed slowly and sat back. Anna was beside him, her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Wesley. I didn’t realize how much she’d gotten inside you.”

Wesley rubbed the back of one hand over his mouth. “No, it’s all right Anna. I’m fine.”

She smiled at him. “I’ll clean this up. I think Angel would like to see you. He needs to feed.”

Wesley looked at her quizzically. “As long as you’re strong enough, that is, otherwise I’ll take him some blood from the refrigerator.”

“How did you—“

She smiled at him again, this time her expression like someone used to dealing with the exceptionally slow. “I’ve seen you…together.” Her hand moved from his shoulder to his hand. “I’m no judge, and he needs you, and as long as you’re capable and willing, it’s better for him than the pig’s blood, more potent, both nutritionally and emotionally.”

Wesley sighed, suddenly very tired himself. “I could use a bit of a nap.” He rose, stepping over the mess he’d made on the floor and heading into the bedroom. He pulled off his shirt, now smelling like vomit, and kicked his shoes off. He moved around to the side of the bed that was empty and slid into it. Angel moved almost as soon as he was settled, turning so that his body was touching Wesley’s, his head rolling onto Wesley’s near shoulder.

Wesley was aware that Angel was awake…or at least not deeply asleep. He could feel his warmth being drawn into the vampire’s skin, could sense what Angel’s body wanted. His own body echoed the desire. Wesley kissed the top of Angel’s head and closed his eyes, letting the fatigue wash over him, pull him into a state nearing sleep. He brought his right arm up to Angel’s mouth, letting it rest there for him.

So much had happened in the last twelve hours. He could feel the cool sheets against his skin, the weight of the blanket, the oddly room temperature touch of Angel’s cheek on his chest. The room smelled stale and vaguely of blood. The faint perfume of Anna and Anan hovered nearby. He could hear the light buzz of conversation, and was startled to realize it was downstairs.

He felt the prick of Angel’s teeth and the accompanying dance of swirling thoughts and emotions, and the immediate sense of arousal. He let his mind wander to the last time Angel had fed from him, nearly 12 hours before. The arousal had led to sex, despite Wesley’s best intentions. His mind erupted in images of that moment, and his body followed, his heart speeding up, his cock getting very hard and erect. He heard Angel’s needy “Want,” and wasn’t sure if it was memory or if Angel had spoken.

He could feel Angel’s hands on him, greedy, grasping. He could feel his cock moving inside of Angel. Yet, he hadn’t moved. Angel was still feeding at his wrist. Confused, Wesley opened his eyes. The room was spinning. He could swear he was looking through Angel’s eyes. “Wes.” Angel’s voice pulled him back inside himself, into the groping, their bodies moving against one another in desperate passion.

He was pinned beneath Angel, he hands held tightly in Angel’s powerful grip over his head. Angel’s powerful body was positioned between his legs, his cock thrusting in and out of him with a speed and strength that would tear a mortal to pieces. “Wesley.”

Angel’s voice ripped through him and Wesley arched his back, sinking teeth deep into Angel’s neck as he came violently. Angel roared and pushed all the harder, his teeth ripping into Wesley’s neck in response. Their bodies moved in unison, sharing the warm blood of a communal meal until Angel pulled free of Wesley, his back arching as he came inside of him, and collapsed.

Wesley opened his eyes breathlessly. He was still on his back on the bed, Angel in his arms stirring. The dampness on his stomach indicated that his body had felt the realness of the…dream? Memory?

“Wesley. I’m sorry.” Angel had tears in his eyes when Wesley looked at him. “I—“ He swallowed and shifted away from Wesley. “I know it isn’t real, but when I’m there, in the dreams it seems so real. What I did—“

Slowly it occurred to Wesley that this had been part of Angel’s false memory. It was just like when Anan had taken him into Angel’s mind, only he was himself, not Angel. He reached for Angel’s hand, but he pulled away.

Angel wouldn’t look at him. “I made you watch while I killed them, while I tortured them and killed them. I beat you, fed from you, raped you…until I broke you…then I turned you and started all over again.”

Tears streamed from Wesley’s face. Angel’s words brought a torrent of images in his head, images and emotion, pain, despair, hatred. His hands were shaking as he turned Angel’s face, cupping his cheek. Slowly Angel’s eyes rose to meet Wesley’s. “I know,” he said softly. “I know.” He kissed him gently, first on the lips, then kissing away the tears spilling from Angel’s eyes. “It isn’t real, Angel. No matter how real it feels.”

Wesley gathered Angel in his arms and held him and together they cried. Somehow Wesley had become entwined in Angel’s mind. He could feel Angel’s grief, the guilt. He wanted to wrap himself around him the way Anna had. He wanted to bring up other memories, images of better times, to remind Angel what was real.

Pictures of Cordelia and Angel and Wesley in that first year in LA came unbidden, and Wesley wasn’t sure whose memory they came from, Angel’s or Wesley’s. They had the desired calming affect though and they both settled back onto the pillows, still wrapped together. Wesley drifted off to sleep with thoughts of the first inklings of his lust for Angel fresh in his mind.

 

“I know what you’re afraid of.”

It snaked through his dreams, drawing him away from the touch of Angel’s hand on his arm, from the pleasant nearness of the intimacy they had built between them in the last few hours. Wesley found himself cold and alone in the place where he had first encountered Naan.

“He knows what you’re afraid of.”

The voice slithered around his consciousness, always moving until he was spinning around trying to find its source. Wesley forced himself to stop, and closed his eyes. “Very good. I’m impressed.”

“I’m not.” Wesley replied. “I’m not so easily manipulated.”

The voice laughed. “Neither was he…not at first…but the right motivation….”

Wesley felt the hand swing in front of him, the edge of the knife catching on his cheek. The laughter surrounded him as his hand went to the cut and found it bleeding. “Stings, doesn’t it?”

“He will do it you know.” She said, close to him. “One day.”

Wesley fought opening his eyes. He knew he needed to extricate himself from the dream-state, find his way back to his body. “He will use your love for him against you…betray you…possess you…turn you…” The final words were whispered, but Wesley could feel them in the pit of his stomach. “Then you can fulfill your real destiny, to be your father’s ultimate failure.”

Wesley shoved the notion aside, tried to anyway. “I believe your sisters are looking for you,” he said, and he simply started walking away. She followed, as he knew she would. If this was the landscape of his subconscious he need only find the door back to conscious thought. As he thought that, the door appeared. He opened it and paused, looking back at Naan who he could finally see. “And, stay out of my head.”

Wesley woke with a gasp, and disentangled himself from the slowly waking body of Angel. Throwing on a robe, he opened the bedroom door. Anna was asleep on the couch. Anan and Naan were safe within their confinement in the kitchen. Anan looked up as he came in.

“Is everything all right?” she asked, sensing his discomfort.

“She was in my head.”

Anan nodded. “I’m getting tired. She is strong.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Anan sighed. “Finish this.”

It was Wesley’s turn to nod. “Gunn should be on his way here to keep an eye on things. I’m going to pay a call on my father. I don’t plan on leaving without what we need.”

“Wesley.” Angel stood between the bedroom door and Wesley, his eyes locked on Naan.

“Its okay Angel, she can’t hurt you.”

“She tried to hurt you.” Angel’s eyes flashed to him, then back to Naan. “I felt it.”

“I’m fine.”

Angel nodded absently. “Did you say you were going somewhere?”

“Yes, my father is in town and he has something we need to fix this.”

“I want to come with you.”

“Angel, I don’t think that’s a wise idea.” Wesley said as he started making coffee. “You aren’t strong enough—“

“I’m fine.” Angel said, a little more forcefully than Wesley expected. There eyes met and Wesley couldn’t say no.

“Fine. We best get cleaned up then.”

Wesley left the coffee to brew and herded Angel off to the bathroom to shower. He was less than certain that Angel should accompany him, but the determination in Angel’s eyes was a sign of significant progress and Wesley didn’t have the heart to deny him. Besides, he didn’t have to worry about leaving him alone with Naan in the apartment.

With that rationalization in mind, Wesley rummaged his closet for something for Angel to wear, settling on a dark shirt and pants that he was fairly certain had been Angel’s first, borrowed when some demon’s blood or something had ruined his own clothes.

They hung quite loose on Angel’s gaunt frame, a stark reminder of the ordeal the vampire had suffered. Wesley put the thought out of his mind and pulled on his own trousers, the dark blue ones he knew Angel liked on him, though how he knew that he wasn’t certain. He turned to find Angel smiling at him.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just admiring the view.”

“Angel, please.” He found it hard to think about putting clothes on with Angel looking at him that way.

“What?” He crossed the room, his stride stronger and more confident than Wesley had seen it since he’d found the strength to stand. “Am I not allowed to enjoy watching you put clothes on? Or is it that you’d rather be taking them off?” Angel’s arms slipped around his waist and pulled him close.

Wesley smiled, but pulled back. “Angel, we are getting ready to go visit my father.”

Angel wasn’t letting go as easily though, his head tilting as he kissed Wesley’s neck. Wesley felt his body stir, thoughts of a long, leisurely afternoon spent exploring each other’s bodies, limits…boundaries spurring him toward slowly sinking into the diversion. It was an effort, but Wesley pulled himself from the thought and out of Angel’s arms. Angel pouted and backed off to perch on the edge of the bed and watch Wesley finish getting dressed.

Wesley had a shirt in his hand, but so far hadn’t put it on, crossing over to where Angel sat, his free hand touching Angel’s face tenderly. “Its not that I don’t want to, “ he whispered, understanding now the intensity of the thought had been its shared nature. His lips brushed Angel’s pout. “I’d love nothing more. But—“

“Duty calls,” Angel finished for him, his voice a throaty whisper.

Wesley nodded, his blue eyes holding Angel’s and trying to express his love. “Yes, duty.” When Wesley was sure Angel understood, he stood back and pulled on the shirt before begin his search for a tie.

The last thing he needed when showing up at his father’s door unexpectedly with Angel at his side was to have the both of them smelling of sex. The visit was bound to be uncomfortable enough. Wesley pushed the thought away again, then finished with the tie and reached for the suit jacket.

When they emerged from the bedroom, Anna was awake and waiting for them with two steaming mugs, coffee for Wesley and blood for Angel. “Anan said you were going out.”

Wesley glanced at Anan, whose eyes were closed, then to Naan. He started when her eyes opened and looked into him. “I know what you’re afraid of.” He heard it in his head, but was mostly certain it was his own memory and not a renewed attack. Anna stepped between him and Naan and smiled.

“I’m going to take Anan’s place to give her some rest. Gunn called while you were in the shower. He should be here shortly.”

“Can you erect the barrier, or will you wait for me to return?”

Anna cocked her head as she thought about it. “Perhaps I will, if I am still strong enough when Anan has had her rest.”

Wesley nodded. Anna moved to Angel, drawing close to him and speaking to him so softly Wesley couldn’t hear her. He sipped at his coffee, then put it down in favor of the blanket they would use to safeguard Angel until they could get into the car. “That’s my good boy,” he heard Anna murmur and he looked up to see Anna taking Angel’s cup, now empty away from him. He smiled too, happy to see Angel drinking again. He shook out the blanket and offered it to Angel, then took up his car keys.

“We shant be long.” Wesley said as he moved to the door. “Call me if anything goes wrong.”

It was a bit tricky getting down the exposed staircase and across to the covered garage, but they managed without incident. Angel climbed into the back seat and covered himself before Wesley had even put on his seat belt.

The hotel wasn’t far, and the ride was silent, neither of them speaking, though Wesley could feel Angel. It was a nearness he didn’t think he’d ever get tired of. As they emerged from the car in the parking garage, Wesley steeled himself for what he knew would be an unpleasant encounter. Angel was a distraction, his own thoughts scattered and Wesley caught the passing thought that his presence wasn’t a good idea before they were gone, into the elevator and headed for the suite Gunn had already visited twice. Wesley knocked gently and waited.

After a long pause the door opened and a half familiar face appeared at the door. Wesley nodded politely enough, but his words belied the nicety of the gesture. “I’m here to see my father.” He didn’t give the servant a chance to close the door, pushing past him and entering the suite’s main room. “Tell him I’m here and I don’t intend to be patient.”

The man scurried away, which lightened Wesley’s irritation a bit. Angel stood beside him silently, his body rigid and tense. “You have a lot of nerve bringing him here.”

Wesley turned at the sound of the voice. His father had emerged from the bedroom, briefcase in hand. “Going somewhere, Father?”

“Back to England. The council was wrong to think you’d changed. They’re reconsidering their offer.”

“They can reconsider all they like Father. Do you have what I asked for?”

Roger Wyndham-Pryce looked like he had something particularly distasteful in his mouth. “Why should I give it to you?”

“Maybe because this time the screw-up is yours, not Wesley’s.” Angel said softly. He didn’t move, but Roger flinched at the sound of his voice.

Wesley put a hand on Angel’s arm to silence him. “I don’t have time to be nice and pleasant. We are talking about a danger here that you can’t possibly fathom. That spell did much more than release Angel of his inhibitions.”

“He seems to have recovered.” Roger set the briefcase down and sat in the nearby chair, adjusting his suit jacket. “This overly dramatic show is not impressive, Wesley.”

“Perhaps not. We are not leaving without what we came for none-the-less.” Wesley was careful to keep his distance, remembering the emotional flashback the last time he had been near his father. He sat on the opposite chair, unconsciously mimicking his father’s movements.

“Rather demanding for a man in your position.” The elder Wyndham-Pryce kept his voice civil, but his eyes shot daggers across the room.

“My position is none of your concern. Yours, however might be.” Wesley felt a faint flicker of fear from Angel and spared a glance his way. He seemed okay, but Wesley wanted to get him out of there as quickly as he could. “I wonder if your fellow council members know where you got that spell, or your ulterior motives for suggesting its use.”

He saw the sought for twitch in his father’s posture and knew that he had been right about Roger’s pride. He had pitched the idea to the council as his own, and not as something found left behind in the school things of his incompetent and disavowed son.

Roger stood and Wesley followed suit, swallowing a wave of panic he wasn’t sure wasn’t his own, until he looked at Angel. The vampire shook his head, his eyes looking for Wesley’s, searching for an anchor, something to hold him to the moment. “Wes.” It was a whispered half sound and it brought Wesley to Angel’s side in a single step.

Wesley could feel the terror bubbling, growing. He touched Angel’s hand, and was swallowed into it, thought blurring and whirring around them until he was once again in the image of he and Angel slowly drinking from the ever-protesting Roger. He pulled away from the physical pleasure that accompanied the thought, pulled his mind free. He thought he heard Anna saying “She broke free,” before he was able to turn away to face his father.

“Don’t come too close. I don’t know if I can keep us from hurting you.” Wesley said, his voice low and dangerous. “This thing you let loose has attached itself to us, influencing us.” He closed his eyes and fought the feelings, then changed his mind. He sank into them, feeling the strange strength of cold hatred fill him. “She knows what we’re afraid of, what makes us hurt. She uses that to move us, change us…” He opened his eyes, his mind latched on the vampire he became in Angel’s false memories and letting it color his face and voice.

“In the world she creates, Angelus turns me and together we feast on your blood before leaving you to die cold and alone.” Wesley took two controlled steps closer to his father. “She tells me it is my ultimate destiny…to become a monster, to finally lose the humanity I have held dearest to me despite your best attempts to beat it and train it out of me.”

Wesley could feel that cold rage, steely determination. He could almost taste the blood in his mouth. He had no idea what his father could see in his face, but he saw his eyes dart behind Wesley to Angel.

Wesley turned just in time to see the vampire sink to the floor, his hands over his ears as his body crumpled into itself. “Angel.” Wesley went to him, letting go of the emotion that had driven him, letting go of everything but his friend and lover. “Angel.”

But Angel had withdrawn into himself. He was rocking himself in a nearly fetal position on the floor. Wesley tried to reach him, but even his physical touch broke through. “Damn!”

“What is wrong with him?” Roger came closer and Wesley looked up at him.

“He’s protecting himself. I hope.” Wesley wasn’t sure. It was the first time since he’d followed Anan into Angel’s mind that he didn’t feel Angel accept as a tiny ball of presence. Wesley closed his eyes. He could feel that sickening twist in his stomach he had felt when Naan had first looked at him, the dizzying spin of reality that had accompanied her foray into his dreams. He circled the sphere of Angel’s mind, trying to comfort him and see what had happened at the same time.

Angel’s scream repulsed him even as he fell into the memory. Angel hung suspended, his arms stretched out from his body, his naked torso dripping blood. Beneath him Naan danced, her bloody blade in hand as she chanted and cut into Angel’s flesh. Blood stained her clothes and congealed in her hair. Angel screamed again, a sound that tore through Wesley’s confounded thoughts and brought him back to himself.

Naan could not see him this time and Wesley found himself holding Angel’s head, trying to break through. He could feel Angel’s blood on his hands, coating his face and he clung to the thought that he had to reach him. He spoke his name repeatedly, his hands touching Angel’s face.

“Wesley?” Angel’s eyes opened, and the images faded. Wesley was on his knees next to Angel and Angel was looking up at him.

For a long moment, Wesley wasn’t aware of the hand on his shoulder, not until Angel’s eyes darted up to where his father stood. Wesley looked up, stunned at the expression of horror on his father’s face. He looked back to Angel to ensure he was okay, then turned to his father. “Are you all right?”

He didn’t answer, but after a long moment blinked, shook his head and moved across the room to his briefcase. After only a slight hesitation, he opened it and removed a bundle that included a book, a scroll and a journal. He tossed it to Wesley.

“If you need any help—“

“I think I’ve had enough of your help. Thank you.” Wesley stood, and reached down to help Angel to his feet. “Go home.” He looked at his father again, noticing how old he suddenly seemed. He wondered how he had let this man make him believe for so long that he was worthless, how he had been afraid, how he had been desperate for his approval. “And, don’t come back. I don’t need you here.”

Wesley slipped an arm around Angel’s shoulders and turned his back on his father, clutching the precious package under his other arm. Wesley supported Angel back to the car and settled him into the back seat with his blanket. The sun would be setting shortly.

As he settled into the driver’s seat, Wesley exhaled slowly, trying to find his equilibrium. His head was still spinning, and he felt like his hands and face were still coated with blood. His hands shook as he opened his cell phone and dialed Gunn’s number.

It seemed at first the Gunn wasn’t going to answer, but just before it rolled over to voicemail, he heard Gunn’s voice. “No, that’s—wait a minute. Hello?”

“What happened?” Wesley tried to keep his voice calm, but knew even Charles would hear the tremor.

“Not sure, I got here and things were crazy.”

“Is Naan contained now?”

“Sorta. Fred’s working on the magic thing, Anna and Anan are telling her what to do. They’re inside with Naan.”

Wesley exhaled slowly. “Does she need me?”

Gunn’s voice faded a little and Wesley imagined him looking over his shoulder. “Wes wants to know if you need him?”

He heard Fred laugh her nervous laugh. “I think I got this.”

“She’s good.”

Wesley was torn. He was certainly more experienced with magic working than Fred, but he needed someplace without the distractions currently resident in his apartment. “All right. I’m going to the office then. I have what I need, I just need some space to work..”

“What you want from us?” Gunn asked.

“Stay there, take care of the girls, and be careful.”

“Hey, Anna’s asking if you two are all right.”

Wesley sparred a glance in the back seat. Angel hadn’t said a word since they had left the hotel room. “We’re okay. Thank her for the warning.”

“Warning?”

“She’ll understand.”

“Right.”

“We’ll return as soon as I have something.”

Wesley sighed and tossed the phone aside. Images flashed through his mind, emotions flashed through his body. The feeling of power as his face changed into full vampire mode and his teeth sank into the flesh of his father’s neck…the arousal watching Angel feed from his wrist. He tried to shake it, but it felt so real. It was as real a memory as his first day of school, his first kiss, his first sexual encounter. It was easy to see why it had been so hard for Angel to distinguish what was real.

“Wesley?”

Wesley turned to see Angel looking at him over the blanket. “Yes, Angel?”

“Thank you.”

Wesley didn’t have to ask to know what he meant, he could feel it, the gratitude, the shared moment when his voice broke through the memory and gave Angel something to hold on to so that he could find his way back out. He smiled into the rear-view mirror and nodded. “I’m sorry, Angel. I am so sorry.” His hand caressed the scroll. “It all comes down to this.” He pulled the journal out and held it up. “In here I wrote the words that did this…all of this.”

“It isn’t your fault—“

Wesley shook his head. He knew the truth, and no words would change it. “No, its okay, Angel. I’m past looking for blame. I just want to set it right.”

He put the book down and started the engine. It was time to get to work.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wesley works to understand what the spell did, and how to fix it, while he and Angel are isolated in the office. Blood leads to sex...and the revelation that Wesley plans to call in magical assistance, in the form of Willow. These things combined set Angel off on a memory...and reasoning out his feelings for Wesley

Wesley Wyndham-Pryce was not a man who admitted defeat easily, but the longer he worked the more he realized he was in well over his head. The text of the original scroll was difficult to translate, except for the bits he had already known. The spell he had constructed from those bits was pretty straightforward, at least at first blush.

Fourteen hours he had sat in his office pouring over the materials and he was only just beginning to have a notion what his spell had actually done. Angel was back to pacing around the hallway outside the door, never actually passing the open doorway, but Wesley could feel him.

At least he was moving now, without help. He had been afraid that the incident at the hotel would set his recovery back, but Angel seemed to finally be on the road to returning to himself. Wesley sat back, dropping his glasses on the desk and rubbing at his eyes. His stomach rumbled and he stole a glance at the clock.

As if in echo, Wesley got an overwhelming sense of hunger from Angel as he neared the door. Wesley smiled. “Angel.”

Angel’s head peered into the room and Wesley beckoned him in. “You must be famished. You haven’t fed since we left the apartment.”

Angel looked at the floor, unwilling to admit his need. “I’m okay, Wesley. You don’t need to—“

Wesley was across the floor and in front of Angel, putting one finger over his lips to silence him. “I never needed to Angel. I chose to.”

He kissed Angel lightly, drawing him into the room and over to the low leather couch. He sat and Angel came with him. Wesley kissed him again, a little more deeply this time, his hands inviting Angel’s out to play, moving them up over Wesley’s chest, before Angel took the lead, circling around to Wesley’s back and pulling him close. Wesley relaxed into him, sliding one leg up over Angel’s until he was effectively straddling Angel’s lap.

Finally breaking their kiss, Wesley looked into Angel’s eyes. Even without the inexplicable emotional connection between them he would be able to see the uncertainty, the desire, the fear that danced in them. “I trust you,” he whispered, barely mouthing the words. He felt the break in Angel’s resistance, a sinking of his fear. Despite everything they had been through together Wesley did, in fact, trust Angel with his life.

Slowly, deliberately, Wesley removed his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the skin along his collar bone and neck. In his fantasies, when he’d allowed the indulgence, this was how it happened, first he’d offered his neck to Angel as a show of trust and affection. Then there was touching, groping…Wesley guided Angel forward with one hand.

His first touch made Wesley shudder, soft lips against tender skin, just over the pulsing rush of blood that Wesley offered him. Several long kisses…just a touch of tongue. Wesley’s face flushed, unleashing the craving in him for this intimacy. His desire filled the room, pulling Angel in. Wesley felt the transformation, the soft lips replaced by sharp teeth, the smooth cheek gone tough against his. “Wesley.” Angel hissed through his fangs.

Wesley pressed himself closer to Angel, his hardening cock brushing against Angel’s in response. There was a long pause, then the tiniest sting as Angel’s teeth sank into him. Wesley’s eyes fluttered shut, his hands loosening as he fell into the ocean of fire that passed between them. 

The only thing more intimate than that moment was the next, as Angel’s hands pushed his shirt from him, fumbling a little with a slow button, his movement urgent but not rushed. He drank slowly, like a kiss, deep and sensual, even as his hands pressed against the heat of Wesley’s skin.

Wesley moaned as those hands found the spot on his back that made him weak and Angel’s mouth moved from his neck to trail kisses along his collarbone, leaving slight tracks of blood to mark his way. His second bite, in the graceful curve of Wesley’s neck was enough to make Wesley come, his body shuddering in Angel’s arms. “Angel.”

Angel pushed them forward, off the couch onto the floor. His hands moved down over Wesley’s hips, cupping his ass, then back around to the zipper. His mouth slipped away from Wesley’s neck and Wesley whimpered. It took a moment of delicate maneuvering, but Angel managed to remove Wesley’s primly pressed pants and pull his own down. Wesley was still semi-erect, his desire plainly written on his face. Angel kissed him, his teeth catching slightly on Wesley’s lip before he let the vampire face fade and deepened his kiss. 

Angel moved so he was between Wesley’s legs and bent to kiss down his neck to the still oozing wound. “Want,” he whispered before his tongue dipped down into the wound and his cock slid into place at the opening of Wesley’s ass. Wesley moved his head in a gesture of offering, pushing his neck closer to Angel’s mouth, and moved his ass in a way that let Angel slip inside of him.

As Angel moved slowly into him, he bent back to the wound. Wesley could feel the slow pull of blood out of him, the slow push of Angel into him and his eyes fluttered closed. This was familiar, intimate and familiar. Angel kept his movements slow. Wesley could feel him holding the fear at bay, fighting a memory of using Wesley’s affection and desire against him, breaking Wesley's body and spirit before turning hi,, Wesley could see it all, behind the sensations as his body rode toward another climax, as Angel neared his own. 

Wesley slid hands up Angel’s chest, around to his back. He had stopped drinking, his face resting on Wesley’s shoulder as he fucked him. “Angel…” Welling up within his orgasm Wesley felt love, anguish, guilt, and Angel’s own rush of orgasm, emotions that seemed to multiply and intensify as they played back and forth between the two of them and their bodies moved together. Angel cried out first, throwing back his head as he came and Wesley followed, his body clenching tight before he melted into the floor.

Angel’s tears didn’t surprise Wesley when he sat up, but his own did. He reached out to touch Angel’s face, wiping at his cheek. “There now, we’re both just fine.”

Angel smiled and wiped Wesley’s cheek in response. “Maybe.”

Wesley chuckled. “I’m proud of you. No flashbacks.”

Angel looked away, clearly struggling with memories surfacing. “It’s not easy.”

Wesley held his hand and brought it to his lips to kiss it. “No, I know it isn’t.”

“It’s very real.”

Wesley nodded. “I know, I’ve seen.” His own experience was still vivid in his mind. “I haven’t seen all of it, so I can’t know…but Angel-“ It was Angel’s turn to stop him with a kiss, soft and tasting vaguely of blood.

“I know Wes, I know.”

Wesley sat back and nodded. “Then perhaps you’re ready for the next step.” Angel looked at him with confusion. “I’m hopelessly out of my reach with this scroll. I need to call in reinforcements.”

“Willow.” Angel said it hollowly, and sank onto himself a little.

“Willow.” Wesley agreed, searching Angel’s face. It meant more than just Willow, though Wesley had seen a little of what Angel had done to her in his false memory. With Willow came all the baggage of Sunnydale. They hadn’t discussed it yet. Buffy’s death had shocked all of them, and Willow had been the one to bring the news to Angel. 

It had been the last blow in a battle Angel hadn’t even been aware he was fighting. By the time that news came that she had returned from the dead, Angel was gone. Wesley looked away sharply, realizing he hadn’t yet told Angel.

“Before I call her, we should talk about—“

“Buffy.” Angel’s voice was soft, hurt. 

“Yes.” Wesley touched his face and tried to get him to look up. “She’s alive, Angel.”

Angel, met his eyes briefly. His own burned with hope and fear at the same time. “How?” He got to his feet, pulling his pants back into place and pacing away. “I mean, I am right in remembering that she was dead.”

Wesley nodded slowly. “Yes. She was. She sacrificed herself to save the world.”

“Back to my first question. How?”

“Willow.”

“Wow.” Angel walked around the office, his thoughts scattered, his emotions jumping from one extreme to another, even as Wesley reached for his own pants and pulled them on.

“Yes, she’s become quite a powerful witch. She had a brush with evil after the death of Tara, but she’s better now, at least that’s what I understand from Giles.”

“Giles.” Angel stopped his pacing and turned toward Wesley. “Giles. Is he—No…He’s fine, right?”

Wesley found his shirt and started putting it on. “Last I spoke with him he was. That was…last month, I think. Why?”

Angel shook his head. “I was…cruel…to him.” His eyes were closed and Wesley could sense the memory playing out behind them. It was partly true, brought out of the memory of Angelus when the love between Buffy and Angel had led to that moment of perfect bliss, and then embellished.

Wesley crossed the room and took Angel’s hands, kissing the large palms to draw Angel’s attention back to him. “That was a long time ago, and it wasn’t you…it was Angelus.”

“Call Willow.” Angel paced away and out into the hallway, leaving Wesley alone in an office that seemed far too quiet suddenly.

 

_Angel could taste her, feel her blood coursing through his body, filling him with the strength that only a slayer’s blood could provide. Her body hung lightly in his arms, surrendered to his lust, to his greed. She wasn’t dead yet, but she would be soon. She had come when he called her, because he had said he needed her._

_He decided to send her body back to her beloved Watcher, the only other man she had ever really belonged to. Maybe as the start of his next move. As he remembered, Giles was interesting to torture._

_His eyes moved to the dark blue ones staring at him from the closet. Wesley wasn’t really seeing, so dazed by his loss of blood and the endless atrocities Angel had subjected him to that he was only nominally conscious, but Angel liked his eyes open and pointed at him while he rocked his body against Buffy’s. He looked so lost without his glasses and suit, his body marked with bite marks and bruises._

_“Cheer up, Wesley. You’ll get your turn soon enough.”_

_Buffy’s eyes opened, pleading with him. “Angel,” she whispered. He licked his lips._

_“There now, it will all be over soon.” There was the smallest hint of an Irish brogue in the words as he leaned in for the kill. When he raised his face again, Buffy was dead, and he had found a new inspiration. He dropped her lifeless body to the floor and went to Wesley’s side. “Imagine his surprise when he opens his mail and finds a Slayer Vampire in it.” Angel said, pointing at Buffy. Her blood burned inside of him. He wanted more. For the moment however, she was dead. He’d have to act fast if he was to get her to Giles before that changed._

 

Angel shook off the memory as he paced. As much as he knew it wasn’t real he could taste her in his mouth. It brought a cascade of other images, faces of those he had loved, and killed. Buffy had been the beginning. He had taken Wesley to Sunnydale and watched as Buffy woke, and Willow had barely escaped her…only to run into Angel.

He was stronger now than he had been, but he was no more than a pawn to Naan’s manipulation, as the incident at the hotel had shown. Wesley was so much stronger than Angel had ever imagined…what Wesley had been through, what Angel had in reality done to him…it seemed unbelievable that he should still trust Angel, much less love him.

For his part, Angel had been aware that Wesley had strong feelings for him, and that they weren’t all employer-employee feelings, or even the kind of feelings between friends. His own affection for the bookish Englishman had been originally based on his expertise, his ability to translate demon languages, and his eagerness to please. It had grown into a friendship that had outlived a reversion into Angelus because of a drug, and who knows how many bad moments, bad decisions and threatening apocalypses. 

It had taken Naan’s dissection of his memory for him to recognize his attraction for Wesley though, and his treatment of Wesley in the fantasy she induced had cemented the feeling. Even now, when he was repulsed by everything he had thought he had done, those moments with Wesley, when he had drank from him, forced him into submission and fucked him hard, those images still stirred him, aroused him. 

He had held it at bay while he was with Wesley, but only barely. In his false memory he hadn’t held back, he had used every ounce of desire and the strength of his unnatural body to hurt Wesley for the crime of loving him…and when Wesley was broken, bleeding and as close to death as Angel could take him without killing him, Angel had offered him the opportunity to turn. At first he had thought Wesley would refuse, but in his warped sense of truth, Wesley loved him so much he would follow him past hell and into the life of the very monsters he had spent a lifetime fighting.

Angel stopped pacing. Wesley had hung up the phone. It was done. Willow would be there the next day. Wesley emerged from the office, his books and the scroll neatly bundled under his arm. “We should probably get back to the apartment, relieve Fred and Gunn.”

Angel nodded tightly, shuttering up the memories and trying to find a smile for Wesley. Wesley deserved that. Wesley saw through it though, and moved to kiss Angel. “It will be okay,” he whispered, putting his free hand around Angel and pulling him close. “I promise.”

Angel shivered, feeling Wesley’s presence wrap around him like a comforting quilt on a cold winter’s night. He let it cover him, buffer him from the pain. It felt inviting and warm, safe. He hadn’t felt safe in a long time.

 

The small apartment was crowded, yet silent. Willow Rosenburg sat on the floor in the living room with Wesley’s books and tried to ignore the eyes watching her. The far corner crackled with the energy it was taking to contain the one sister and that pressed into her concentration as well. 

She hadn’t expected an audience while she worked, but neither had she expected Angel’s condition or the way he freaked out when he saw her, or the way he came unglued at the sight of Buffy with her. It unnerved her. She’d seen Angel in a lot of ways before, but this was…She shook her head and forced her attention back to the scroll in her hands. Focus. 

Buffy Summers didn’t like to be told what to do. That hadn’t changed any with the dying and coming back to life. If anything, it was worse. So, being told she couldn’t see Angel didn’t sit well with her. She was pacing. The afternoon was warm. She walked up and down the balcony outside Wesley’s front door while he stood watching her. At least out here she wouldn’t disturb Willow.

“I only came because Willow said he was hurt.” Buffy said for the fifth or sixth time as she stopped in front of Wesley. “I need to see him.”

“And he needs to see you. Just not right now. He needs time.”

“For what?!” She was exasperated, waving her arms at him.

“If you’re ready to hear, I’ll tell you…but it won’t be easy.” Wesley unfolded his arms. He could feel Angel moving around inside, his emotions trembling between utter panic and forced rationality. 

“Okay, I’m listening.”

“Are you?” Wesley cocked his head, trying to determine if she really was ready to hear this.

“Wesley, I don’t have time for this. The hellmouth is waking up. I have a houseful of potential slayers who feel vulnerable and helpless and I’ve left them with Dawn and Xander and, god help me, Andrew and Spike, so I could come here and make sure that Angel is safe…so if you have something to say, say it.”

“Very well. It begins with a spell.”

“Doesn’t it always?”

Wesley smiled and steered her to the wrought iron bench. “This time, it was the Watcher’s Council’s use of the spell.”

For the next hour, Wesley filled her in on the events that had lead to his phone call to Sunnyvale. He spared her nothing, detailing Angel’s physical and mental condition when he’d found him, the venture into Angel’s subconscious, everything except the physical relationship that had developed between Wesley and the vampire. That was something he knew she wasn’t ready for.

“Has your father left for England yet?” She asked after he told her about his involvement.

“Yes, yesterday.” She exhaled slowly and it made him nervous. “Why?”

“We got word that the council was hit, hard. We haven’t heard from Giles, we don’t know who is alive and who isn’t. If your father was still traveling yesterday, he’s probably safe.”

“Hit by whom?” Wesley asked, suddenly more nervous than he had been.

Buffy stood and resumed her pacing. “Agents of the First. They’re seeking out potential slayers and killing them. Giles has been bringing them to me to protect, but…its not good.”

“Oh dear.” Wesley stood and wiped his hands on his pants. “I had presumed that the council was referring to this business with Naan. It never occurred to me that it could be something…bigger.”

“They were getting desperate, and still couldn’t play it straight.” Buffy shook her head. “I should check in with Xander, see how things are at home.” She took her cell phone out of a pocket and Wesley nodded.

“I’ll check on our progress inside.”

Wesley’s first thought was of Angel, who had been a quivering ball of non-responsive vampire when he had left him in the bedroom. He had prepared for Willow, but not Buffy. Wesley had felt the shock, fear, anguish engulf him and had only managed to get to his side before he crumpled. He nodded at Gunn and Fred as he passed into the living room. His eyes found Anna’s for reassurance that they were fine before he moved into the bedroom.

The room was dark, the way Angel preferred it. He wasn’t in the bed, or the familiar corner. He was in the room, Wesley could feel him. “Angel.” He said it softly, scarcely a whisper, and still felt Angel jump. He was in the dark corner nearest the closet.

Wesley crossed to him gently, holding out his hand for Angel to come to him. A long moment passed in which he didn’t think Angel would come, then he felt the cool fingers slowly grasping his. They moved to the bed and Wesley wrapped his arms around his friend, his lover.

“Angel, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

”I know.” Wesley could feel him trying to find his strength and it made him smile. “I’m sorry. I kept seeing her…what I did to her…She-she—“

Angel shuddered against Wesley. “She’s fine, and she understands. She won’t barge in on you again. She’ll wait for you.” Wesley’s nimble fingers caressed Angel’s face. It was cool to the touch, damp with tears. “Are you hungry?”

Angel shook his head and sat up. “I couldn’t…not right now.” He crossed his arms, which pulled the loose shirt tight over his chest, showing how thin he really was. It still made Wesley uneasy, the sight of the once powerful vampire wasted away. “How is…Willow doing?”

Wesley smiled and stood. “I don’t know. I should check in on her. You rest.”

Angel nodded, though he didn’t show any signs of actually laying down. Wesley closed the door behind him, and found the eyes of nearly everyone in the room on him. “He’s resting,” he said finally, after a long silence. Buffy, by the door, looked relieved and sank down into the chair nearest her. 

Wesley moved to squat beside Willow. “Any luck?”

“Some.” She shifted uncomfortably. “This isn’t going to be easy.”

“It never is.” Wesley sighed. He was tired, and it was beginning to show. 

“In order to re-bind them, we have to completely sever the connection they have now.” Willow said, leaning back to stretch her neck.

“We can’t, we’ll have no control over Naan.”

“I know. I said it wouldn’t be easy.”

Wesley looked over to the three sisters. Behind their protective barrier they couldn’t hear much of what the others said, but Anna’s eyes were on him. “Then what?”

“Big magic, bind them together…if we’re lucky.” She held up the scroll. “This spell is incredible. We can’t duplicate it, not exactly. Some of the things they used no longer exist. The talisman was one of a kind…nothing we have today is strong enough to hold all three.”

“So what do you suggest?”

Willow’s eyes sparkled with knowledge and an excitement Wesley himself had once known when working on mystical problems that stretched his knowledge. “We bind them into one person, into Anan. She is the glue that holds them together.”

“And then what?”

“One thing at a time, Wesley. We eliminate the threat first.”

Wesley nodded. “Do you have everything you need?”

She shook her head. “Not even close. I have a list.” She handed a piece of paper to Wesley.

His eyes skimmed the list, mentally picking out the shops and contacts needed to fill the list. “Gunn, you and Fred go get this stuff. You should be able to get most of it nearby. The rest you’ll need to go to Garish’s place. He should be able to point you in the right direction.”

“Got it.” Gunn helped Fred up off the couch and reached for the list. “Any special instructions?” he asked Willow who was getting up from the floor.

“Yeah, don’t let the herbs mix, or you’ll have a really big mess. And, make sure you get a Philean’s crystal, not any other kind. It should have a blue-ish center.”

“Got it. Be back as fast as we can.”

Wesley nodded absently, then rose to collapse onto the couch where Gunn and Fred had been. Willow looked at him with concern, and stepped closer. “You okay, Wesley?”

“Just tired, I’m afraid. I haven’t slept much since finding Angel.”

“Buffy and I can keep an eye on things, if you want to sleep.” 

“Thank you, Willow. I may just do that.” He lay down on the couch. “You might want to try talking to Anna, to explain what you’re going to do.”

“I will.” She smiled for him, a pretty smile that tried to convey confidence and joy, but Wesley saw through it to her fear…not just for the spell, but for herself and her ability to handle the magic. He smiled back, hoping it helped. Then his eyes slid closed and he slept.

Willow stood, uncertain now that it was essentially just her and Buffy. “Now what?” Buffy asked, meeting her in the middle of the room.

“We wait.” Willow shook her head. 

“Are you worried?”

She nodded. She didn’t trust herself to say what she was feeling, just turned away, looking at Anna who was watching them from inside the energy barrier. Buffy didn’t need the words, and wrapped her arms around her friend. “I believe in you,” she whispered. It was just enough to chase the tears away. Willow squeezed her hand in thanks, then stepped away to start the preparations and talk to Anna. 

Buffy busied herself with cleaning up the stacks of books and parchment, trying not to keep looking at the bedroom door. It seemed so quiet. It reminded her how Angel used to be able to sneak up on her, even when no one else could. She missed that strength, knowing he was there, ready to catch her. Despite everything, if he were gone, her world was empty. Being this close and not able to talk to him, touch him…was maddening…even if their last words had been angry ones,…even if there were someone else in her life….Angel would always be a part of her.

“Buffy?”

It was almost inaudible, but her head turned. Angel leaned against the doorway. He wouldn’t look at her. She stood. One step, two…then she stopped. “Angel?”

His head turned toward her, but she couldn’t see his eyes. Maybe they were closed. She tried another step. He flinched, but didn’t leave the door. Another step, and she was within arm’s reach. “Angel?” she tried again. She was close enough now for a better look. What she saw shook her. 

He held to the door jamb with one hand, and it seemed the only thing that was holding him upright. His shirt hung off of him, where once it would have draped perfectly over arm and chest muscles. His face was gaunt and white, except the dark shadows under his eyes and in his cheeks. Closing her eyes, Buffy stepped closer, wrapping her arms around him and laying her cheek on his chest. After a moment, she felt his arms wrap around her too.

Slowly, he lowered his head until it was on her shoulder, and she could feel great sobs shaking him. Her eyes found Willow’s, then she slowly maneuvered Angel back into the room, closing the door so that they could be alone.

For a long time, Angel simply clung to her, crying silently into her shoulder. Buffy let him, holding him and feeling small and weak. Angel was her strength, and she felt strangely alone. Slowly he let go of her, moved away. He sank onto the bed and avoided looking at her. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’m trying to—Wesley told you?”

“A little.” She was going to sit beside him, but saw him stiffen and chose the floor in front of him instead. “I know that you think you killed us.”

“If I had only killed you.” Angel whispered, shaking his head. “I can see it every time I close my eyes. I know it isn’t real, but some part of me…I didn’t just kill, Buffy.”

She set one hand on his knee, trying to find a way past the fear. This was not her strong suit. She wasn’t sure what to say or do. “I wasn’t Angelus. I was me, and I chose to do things…I think its worse because I actually did some of them. I tortured Wesley…I—“

He touched her hand where it rested on his leg. “Before she took me, I tortured Wesley, threatened Cordelia. I slept with Darla. Must have made it easier for her. She made me believe—“

“Wait, you slept with Darla?” Buffy pulled her hand away and stood up. “How is that even possible?”

Angel looked up at her. “Wolfram and Hart, brought her back.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“I know.” Angel hung his head while she paced. “I told you, I—I—Wesley says it was some sort of spell.”

Buffy turned to look at him, her eyes squinting. “Where is she now?”

“Dead. Wesley says she sacrificed herself.”

“Wait, we’re talking about Darla here, right?”

“I think it’s a long story. I don’t have all the details. I only know what Wes has said about Connor.”

“Who’s Connor?”

“My son.” Angel closed his eyes and shook his head. “It makes no sense, I know that. But Wesley says—“

“Son? Vampires don’t have sons.” Buffy was back in front of him, her eyes searching for his. “I die for a little while and the whole world goes wacky.”

He winced and reached for her hand. “You were dead, when I went away.” Her skin was warm and he held it to his face. “You were dead, and I was alone…until Wesley—found me.” He was quiet, his eyes closed as he listened the blood rushing through the veins in her wrist. “In the delusion you weren’t dead. After I killed Fred and Gunn and Cordelia, I called you, asked you to come here. I made Wesley watch as I—turned you…and we watched you kill Dawn…together we tortured Giles and Willow…” His voice choked and he stopped for a long moment. “You begged me to…die…before I…”

Buffy stared down at him, her mind conjuring images to match his words. Her stomach twisted around inside her. His tears made it worse. He moved until his head was against her stomach, his arms sliding around to hold her as if it held him in the room. Her hands seemed to move of their own accord, rising to sooth his hair. “It never happened, Angel. I’m here, Willow is here.”

He stifled a sob and held her tighter. “Just stay with me for a while,” he said, his words slightly muffled. “I need to feel you.”

Buffy kissed the top of his head and he looked up. He seemed so lost, so…broken. She kissed him, softly at first, then with more urgency. He clutched at her, pulling her into him as he kissed her back. She could feel his need for touch, as if each warm finger on his skin brought redemption.

 

Wesley pretended to sleep, but he could feel Angel’s anguish and the comfort he derived from Buffy’s touch, her kiss. It hurt to know that she could still make Angel feel…Wesley knew she would, could…but to feel it like this…He turned to face the back of the couch, turning his back to the bedroom door, to the emotions he could feel wafting off Angel.

Buffy would always be a part of Angel, Wesley had accepted that long before he and Angel had ever, well before they had ever even entertained the idea of being together. Still, he felt a small swell of satisfaction when the bedroom door opened and Buffy emerged. Angel paced behind the wall, Wesley could feel him. He was stronger for having talked to Buffy, and stronger was good. Buffy, on the other hand seemed shaken. 

“I’m gonna get some air,” he heard her say to Willow, then she was gone out the front door. Wesley felt Angel reach out for him, and let his thoughts caress him gently before he settled into the sleep he so desperately needed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wesly makes an admission to Angel after sharing an erotic dream; Willow begins the spell to re-join the sisters...

Wesley’s sleep was far from pleasant, with dark dreams that melded into memories that were not his own and merged with Angel’s own twisted dreams. When he woke, the room was dark, save for the light from Anna and Anan. Willow was scribbling notes in the recliner near by. Buffy was nowhere to be seen.

For the briefest moments, Wesley panicked, thinking she was with Angel. His heart pounded against his ribs and he found himself listening for their voices. Angel was still asleep however, Wesley could sense him, alone beyond the bedroom wall. Slowly he sat up, rubbing at his face. He was more tired than when he had laid down. He exhaled slowly and Willow looked up from her notes.

“Buffy went for food.” Willow offered with a tentative smile. “No offense, but pretty much all that’s left in that fridge is pig’s blood.”

Wesley nodded. “Sorry, things have been a little…”

She nodded. “Yeah, I know. Are you feeling better?”

“Not particularly.” His stomach grumbled in delayed response to the thought of food. “How about you? Any progress?”

She nodded, her eyes sparkling, even in the dim light of the energy barrier. “I think so. This spell is intense. I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ve got the steps planned out. We’ll have to work fast, but I think we can do it.”

Wesley nodded again, feeling so much older than he had when Anna had first told him that Angel was back in town. “Good. Have you explained to Anna and Anan what your plan is?”

“Yes, Anan gave me some good pointers even.” She looked over at the three sisters, bound inside the magical barrier that Wesley could see was beginning to strain. “They’re exhausted. Naan has grown a great deal in her time apart from them.”

Wesley could sense something in her tone, a worry she hadn’t voiced. “Will the binding hold her?”

Willow breathed in deep and held it a moment before nodding slowly. “They will be bound, but a lot is dependent on Anan’s strength. She is, after all, a part of Naan. There is a chance that joining them will only make Naan stronger.”

Wesley shook his head and stood. “Then we shall hope that isn’t the case. I’m going to check on Angel.”

She nodded and turned back to her work. Wesley started for the bedroom, then changed his mind and headed for the kitchen to warm some blood for Angel. If Wesley was hungry, Angel had to be as well, and they would both need their strength for the coming ritual. Even a moment unbound from her sisters could make Naan fatal for one or both of them.

Angel was sleeping, sprawled out across the bed, when Wesley entered the room. It was obvious that he was dreaming, and while the noises he made were distressful, the very obvious erection indicated that the dream was fairly arousing as well. Wesley set the mug of blood on the dresser and crossed the room, sliding onto the bed and alongside Angel’s body. He closed his eyes and let his senses fill with the presence of his friend and lover. One hand rose to touch his arm, and that one touch was enough to transport him into Angel’s dream.

_Wesley could feel the weight of his own body, the pain of a hundred wounds, the numb grief of the final witness to the death of everyone and everything he held dear…well, not everything. His heart would be racing if it had the strength to do more than languidly keep him alive. His back burned with the remnants of torture._

_His captor needed no chains to keep him, there was no where he could go, there was no one left he needed, but the vampire who even now was abusing him…but was it abuse if it aroused him? There could be no denying the affect Angel’s fucking was having, Wesley didn’t control his body any more. Angel pounded into him from behind with great abandon and Wesley could feel his own cock hard and nearing orgasm._

_The teeth pierced into his neck and Wesley came, wondering if this would be the last time. Angel had wounded him this time, he could feel it. He hung limp in Angel’s arms, his body spent…then he felt it, the hand, the wrist…pressed into his mouth…offering…_

_Wesley hesitated, breathing rapidly through his nose to keep down the panic. Angel’s mouth moved from his neck as his cock plunged back inside of him. “Wesley,” Angel growled in his ear and Wesley’s whole body moaned. “I want to come inside you.”_

_There was blood dripping from Angel’s wrist, coating Wesley’s lips. Slowly Wesley’s lips parted, his eyes closing. “I love you, Angel.” Wesley whispered, breathing out one final time before closing his mouth over the bleeding wound and swallowing rapidly. As the blood flowed into him, Angel came and they fell forward together. Wesley released Angel’s arm as he felt it beginning and relaxed into the darkness._

Wesley jumped as if burned, though Angel’s skin was cool. Angel’s eyes found his, but what he saw in them Wesley couldn’t be sure. How much had been false memory and how much had been dream influenced by desire he couldn’t be sure. The desire was real enough, as evidenced by the decided erection he had to shift uncomfortably to accommodate. He had often enough in the past dreamed of Angel taking him in a very similar fashion, though usually without the bit where Wesley let Angel turn him.

Angel shifted to take his hand, bringing it to his lips. They sat that way silently for a moment before Angel kissed it and looked up at Wesley. “I would never…not without…never, you know that, right?”

Wesley was shaking, though whether it was fear or desire wasn’t clear to him. “A part of me wanted that,” he whispered fiercely.

“A part of me still does.” Angel replied, his voice heavy. His eyes dropped to their joined hands. “A part of me always will. It—It frightens me.”

Wesley exhaled slowly in an attempt to hold his emotion at bay. “I trust you, Angel,” he whispered, “maybe more than I trust myself.” He moved so that he could lay his head on Angel’s chest.

“I’m not sure that’s a good thing.” Angel said, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Wesley managed a smile, but his thoughts were drawn over and over again to that feeling, the defeat, the despair…and all of it nothing compared to the physical pleasure, even as he surrendered the last of himself in exchange for it. “Naan tells me it is my destiny,” he ventured, turning at last to look at Angel.

“And we all know she’s a paragon of truth.” Angel played with Wesley’s hand, tickling the palm.

“I’ve thought about it before…a lot, actually. What it would be like to be with you…to be with you that way.” Wesley inhaled and let it out slowly. “She is right about one thing, it has always been my greatest fear…and yet, I would…I could…for you…” he closed his eyes against the admission. He had never meant to tell him…had never spoken it aloud.

When he opened his eyes again, Angel was crying. Wesley shook his head. “That wasn’t the response I’d expected,” he said.

“Wes…I—again, not good at this part…but, my god, Wes…” Angel sat up suddenly, dropping Wesley onto the bed, before pulling him to him and kissing him passionately. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“I rather like that part before…with the lips.” Wesley smiled, even as Angel kissed him again, their tongues wrestling around until Wesley had to break for air. “Yes, I like that part a lot.”

Wesley shifted so that he was sitting more or less beside Angel. In the shadows, Angel’s face held the illusion that it wasn’t hollowed out by starvation and for a moment he could see Angel as he had been. He smiled. Angel smiled. Then Wesley’s stomach gurgled. “Oh, right. I brought you some blood.” He slid off the bed and brought the mug to Angel who made a face. “Come now, it isn’t that bad.”

Angel took the offered mug and sniffed at it. “I know you’d rather have mine,” Wesley said, “but I’ll need my strength for what’s coming.”

“Food!” they heard Buffy call, followed by the closing of the front door.

Wesley bit back the sudden jealousy that Angel’s reaction to her voice brought to the surface. Angel must have seen it on his face though. “Wes, I—“

“No, Angel, its fine. I understand.”

“Do you?” Angel sipped at his cup, then set it aside, getting up off the bed to come to Wesley. “You forget that little thing where you can feel what I’m feeling? It works both ways, you know.”

Wesley quirked an eyebrow at him. Clearly he hadn’t really realized that.

“She and I will always have something between us, but we will never be what we were. She has her own life, and I have mine. I’m fortunate enough to have you in mine.” He kissed Wesley lightly. “Now go eat before your hunger drives me crazy.”

 

Wesley very much doubted that the paper sacks filled with fast food really counted as sustenance, but took his from Buffy and settled onto the couch to eat it. Willow passed food in to Anna and Anan, then joined him on the couch. Buffy sat on the floor near the front door. After a long moment, Angel emerged from the bedroom, one of Wesley’s shirts hanging from him and his cup of blood in his hands. He glanced nervously toward Naan, then to Wesley, before finding a spot in Wesley’s recliner.

Angel cradled the warm mug and sipped from it. He was hungry, but he could smell Wesley on his clothes, on the chair. It made the pig’s blood in his cup flat and uninviting. He had to get used to it again though. He had to stop sapping Wesley. He could feel Buffy’s eyes on him. He looked at her briefly. She had been crying. She smiled at him and he looked away.

He was still so weak. He hated the feeling. He hated knowing that he needed someone as much as he had come to need Wesley, how the fear drove him into the darkness, how just looking at Naan could undo him completely. He could feel her, even if he couldn’t see her. She wanted him to hate himself. She wanted him to feel the despair that came every time he realized he and Angelus were the same person and soul or no soul, that evil was a part of who he was.

And he did feel it. It came crawling over him in his sleep. It ambushed him when he opened his eyes. He felt it when he fed from Wesley. If not for Wesley, it might overwhelm him…sending him hurtling through the darkness to the place where oblivion was only a properly placed stake away.

Angel swallowed the rapidly cooling contents of his cup, trying to swallow the emotion with it. He felt Wesley looking at him and looked up. He managed a weak smile, then jumped as the door opened.

Fred and Gunn came in, bags overflowing with magical components in their arms. Willow’s face lit up and she set aside her burger in favor of helping Fred with her burden. “Great! We can get started as soon as everyone’s done eating.”

Willow set Gunn about moving furniture out of the way, and in front of the door, effectively locking them in, just in case Naan made an attempt to escape. Wesley and Buffy finished eating quickly, and cleared the remainder of the books and notes scattered around the living room.

“Okay, Gunn, I’m going to want you outside the circle, near the door. Your job is to keep anything that gets out of the circle from leaving the apartment.” Willow said as she started setting up the ritual space. “Angel, I want you outside the circle as well. You aren’t strong enough for this. Wesley, you’ll anchor the north. Since you’ve already worked with Anna and Anan, your job will be to ensure their safety, and keep Naan in the circle.”

She carefully set a faintly blue crystal on the carpet in the center of her circle, which she was setting with alternating candles and black crystals. Angel stepped backward, out of the range of the circle as she moved his way. He ended up standing in the bedroom doorway as the circle of candles and stones made its way nearly to the wall.

Angel watched as Buffy and Fred moved into place opposite one another and between Willow and Wesley. Already the air was crackling with magic. Willow began an incantation, her eyes going dark as one by one the candles and crystals came to life and an arc of light grew around the foursome. The arc grew as each candle lit, until the circle was complete. Then it grew upward until it formed a dome over the small group.

Angel couldn’t hear what Willow was saying anymore, but he watched as the circle began to expand toward where the three sisters waited inside their circle. In moments, the smaller circle was engulfed in the elliptical one Willow was making. He saw the smaller circle collapse, Anna and Anan sagging a little in relief. Wesley moved to stand behind the chair where Naan huddled. He took Anna’s hand in his right and Anan’s in his left.

Willow came toward them, mixing herbs in a bowl while speaking more words Angel couldn’t hear, then sprinkling the herbs around the women. Wesley’s mouth moved. He took up Willow’s chant while she returned to the crystal in the center and sprinkled more of the herbs around it. Then she returned, a vial of oil in her hand.

She rubbed oil onto Anna’s free hand, then onto Naan’s left hand, and lastly into Anan’s free hand. Wesley let go of the sisters. Willow repeated the anointing on the remaining hands of the sisters. Then she moved to their foreheads. She touched Anan’s first, and Angel watched as she sank to the floor. Then came Anna. She too collapsed to the floor. Last, Willow touched the oil to Naan’s head and spoke something forcibly. Naan didn’t collapse, but a burst of light sent Willow flying backwards.

Angel saw Naan start to rise, then saw Wesley’s hand moving. He tried screaming, but knew Wesley would never hear him. Angel lunged for the circle, but Wesley’s hand came down on Naan’s shoulder and Angel felt pain shoot through him. His knees buckled, his vision swam. He saw Wesley and Naan fall over backwards before the next wave of searing pain sent him sprawling to the floor unconscious.

 

Wesley stumbled backwards, his hand firmly clamped on Naan’s shoulder, despite the burning that started in his fingers and moved swiftly into his palm and was now moving up his forearm. He crashed to the floor with Naan, instinctively pulling her closer and wrapping his arms around her.

Pain seared through him, every nerve ending in his body screaming in torment. He fought to keep his mind dark, blocked, but the voices filled his head…cries of pain, shouts of anguish, whimpering grief…the cacophony was deafening.

Naan struggled and he tried to strengthen his hold on her. He was losing control of his body as it began to spasm in response to the pain. Vaguely he could feel Willow. She was speaking to him. He couldn’t hear her over the shrieking in his head, noise that he was slowly coming to understand.

“Do what you came here for.” Wesley said, hoping his words were coherent and could be heard. “I can’t hold her for long.”

He didn’t know if Willow heard him, but he felt her leave him, and he was alone with Naan, alone and falling into a lonely, terrifying darkness. The sensations of his physical body faded as he fell into what he could only believe was Naan’s mind. Beyond the discordant symphony that was slowly growing to include images and sensations of pain, he knew she was there with him, even if he couldn’t see her. The voices ebbed and flowed around him, making it difficult to think.

All around him the faces and mangled bodies of people dying pulsed, like movies that inflicted the wounds on the audience. “Naan.” He spoke her name to beckon her. Everything shifted around him and a howling image of a mother holding her dead child slammed into his stomach.

He doubled over, grabbing at his stomach, choking back a scream that would only add to the noise. He could see the signs of order that Anna and Anan must have been working to help Naan achieve, images and such segregated by type and location, but already it was beginning to fray. He hoped Willow worked fast.

Wesley navigated through the dark, each movement sending ripples around him. He tried to sort through the sensations pounding through him, finding one that he thought was his own physical body. It was a vague notion at best, that his arms were wrapped around Naan and that he was in pain.

“We have to make it stop.” Naan’s voice was soft, tiny compared to the screaming and howling around him, but it cut through it all. She was suddenly beside him, and in front of them both a chasm opened, descending hideous depths and rising above them beyond his ability to see. The images covered the walls, war, murder, illness and disease, grief, despair…and a foul wind blew from all directions, carrying it to them.

Wesley’s knees buckled, it was too much. He hurt in ways he couldn’t fathom. His stomach burned, his head felt as though it might implode from the pressure. If he paused to look at any one image its emotion overwhelmed him and he could feel the pain of wounds he had never suffered.

Beside him, Naan seemed small, still. Wesley turned his attention to her, away from the swirling images begging for his attention. He was surprised by the tears. Her face was drawn, her eyes sunken and hollow. She looked up at him with an expression that hovered somewhere between a plea for help and wild eyed terror.

“It hurts. I don’t want it to hurt anymore.” She lunged at Wesley, wrapping her arms around him. The pain doubled and together they tumbled dangerously close the edge.

“Make it stop,” she pleaded, her voice masked in tears and emotion. Wesley could see now that the chasm stretched out further than he could see. He knew it circled around them, though he wasn’t sure how he knew that. Naan lived here, on an island, surrounded by the suffering of the entire world. He couldn’t imagine…he’d been there only minutes and he was being torn apart…how could anyone expect a child to handle this? How could anyone endure this and not go mad?

Wesley stopped struggling against her embrace, letting his arms settle around her. After a long time, she lay still on top of him, letting him hold her. The noise was growing. Wesley was drained. He couldn’t feel his physical body at all anymore. All sense of time and place was fading. Just let go…so much easier…so tempting…

Wesley’s head fell to the side. There was something pulling on him, drawing him. He opened his eyes. Angel’s face greeted him. He couldn’t tell if it was his connection to the vampire, or the chasm showing him a pain more personal. Angel’s face was contorted in anguish, wet with tears.

He reached out a hand, almost imagining he could feel Angel’s cheek. The vampire’s eyes were dark. Despair wafted off of him, reaching through the haze of emotions that surrounded Wesley. “Angel.” Wesley whispered it, feeling his own fear ignite inside him. He had a job to do. He had to hold on. “Hurry Willow.”

 

Willow’s voice rose in pitch as she watched Wesley’s body convulse. It had shaken her, Naan’s reaction, flying across the circle and rising to find Wesley wrestling on the floor, clearly slipping away from them.

His words snapped her back into herself and she’d set to the next part of the spell with fervor. As the power grew, she turned her face to Buffy. “Get him to let go of her, move her beside Anan.”

They had already moved Anna and Anan to lie side by side. Anan’s eyes followed Willow as held the Philean’s crystal and moved into place. Buffy maneuvered Naan into place beside Anan. Willow met Anan’s eyes and nodded. Anan nodded in return.

Fred and Buffy took up positions beside Wesley. He was still twitching, but seemed to settle as Fred touched him. Willow turned her attention back to the crystal and resumed the words of the spell. She closed her eyes as a magic older than any she had ever tapped filled the air, swirling around her and infusing the crystal.

Even with her eyes closed, Willow could see the power growing, the light first from the crystal as the magic filled it, suspending it in the air, then from Anna, Anan and even Naan. Energy whipped through the circle and through her as she raised her hands. Her palms itched and burned as it came, raw, unbridled magic pouring through her and into the crystal. 

The light was nearly unbearable , even with her eyes closed, yet it grew until she had to cover her eyes. A clap of thunder shook the room and three tendrils of white hot light shot out of the suspended crystal, and into each of the sisters, raising them vertical to hang inches from the ground.

Willow shouted the final words, squinting against the glare. The three glowing forms slammed together as a second clap of thunder rattled them. A brilliant flash followed, and like it was being sucked into a vacuum, the light withdrew into Anan. A final clap of thunder accompanied the last of the light, and Anan and the crystal were lowered onto the carpet.

Willow was breathing heavy. Anna and Naan were gone. Anan seemed unconscious, her red hair now streaked with gold and black. Wesley lay on the floor still and apparently unconscious as well. Fred and Buffy sat beside him, both stunned.

Willow took a tentative step toward the still softly glowing form of Anan. Her eyes opened and she sat up. One eye was now the soft blue-grey that Anna’s had been. The other so dark it was more black than blue. Willow knelt in front of her. “Are you…” she started, but she wasn’t certain how to finish the question.

“We are Annanaan,” she responded, the voice echoing as if all three had spoken at once. “We are one.”

Willow nodded and swallowed hard. “I think I was looking for Okay, but that will do.” Wesley groaned and Willow turned her attention to him.

“He is unwell.” Annanaan said, following Willow’s eyes. 

Willow nodded and moved to kneel beside Wesley, reaching to test his pulse. He recoiled from her touch, curling into a near fetal position. Just as suddenly he straightened out and called out for Angel.

Buffy stood and looked to where the vampire had last stood. She couldn’t see him. She looked for Gunn who was trying to follow what was happening inside the mystical barrier. Gunn’s eyes tracked Buffy’s hand gestures. He couldn’t see Angel, but there was no way for him to get around the barrier to find him. Buffy waved him off and turned back to Willow.

“Willow, I need this thing down, now!”

Willow was torn between her duty to Wesley and the need to help Angel. Annanaan knelt beside her and reached for Wesley, but Willow put out her hand to stop her. “We would help.”

Willow bit her lip, then nodded, leaving Wesley to her touch while Willow moved to Buffy’s side, already pulling at the strings of magic that would dismantle the protective barrier.

As soon as it was down, she and Buffy burst over the line and into the bedroom. Angel squatted in the corner, his face averted, his hands hidden behind his knees. He shook, great, noiseless sobs wracking his body.

Buffy held up a hand to stop Willow and moved closer alone. “Angel, it’s going to be okay, its over.”

She came within arm’s reach and sank to her knees in front of him. Her words produced no response. She reached out to touch him and pulled back when his arm proved to be hot. She reached then for his face. It too was warmer than even the body temperature of a living being.

He lifted his face, the ridges of his vampire face drenched with tears. His eyes seemed alive with things she had never seen in Angel’s eyes before…terror, despair…it shook her.

Even more so when he moved enough that she could see his hands, trapped between his body and his knees. There was blood, a small wooden stake in his hands, it’s point already lodged in the skin of his chest. Instinctively, she reached for it and he jerked away. “Angel, give me the stake.”

“Have to end it,” he murmured. “Don’t want to hurt anymore.”

“That won’t end the pain.” Wesley’s voice was thick and he leaned heavily on Gunn as he limped into the room. He nodded at Buffy who moved out of the way. With a groan, Wesley dropped to the floor in front of Angel.

Angel’s crying deepened again, his head falling onto his knees. Each sob threatened to push the stake home into his chest. Wesley knew the others were watching, but was past caring about appearances or what they thought. He stretched out a hand and let it caress Angel’s head. “I’ve seen the pain, Angel, it’s face.” He let his fingers slide down to Angel’s chin, slowly cajoling him into lifting his head. “It’s terrible and hard and raw…but it isn’t yours to carry. It isn’t yours to end.”

Wesley’s fingers caressed Angel’s face, over the bumps, the lips. Touch seemed to reach through to Angel so much faster than words. “Don’t leave me,” he whispered fiercely so that only Angel could hear.

Angel’s eyes closed as Wesley kissed the raised ridges on his brow, then his cheeks, his fingers following to wipe away the tears. When Wesley pressed his lips against Angel’s, Angel sagged, his hands falling to his side, the stake rolling free. Wesley had no idea where his own pain ended and Angel’s began, or even if it wasn’t all the same. His flesh screamed as he moved, burning against the cool air of the room. He wasn’t going to be able to hold on much longer before he passed out again, but he couldn’t leave Angel like this.

He knew what he needed to get Angel to come back to him. His eyes never left Angel’s as he turned his words to others in the room. “Willow, I need a knife.”

“What?”

“A knife, now please.”

Willow stumbled over her feet, but left the room and returned moments later with the requested implement, which Wesley took and sliced his arm in one motion. “Want?” he asked breathlessly, putting the wound near Angel’s mouth.

Buffy and Willow both jumped to stop him, but Wesley held up the hand with the knife. “No.” was all he said in warning. 

Angel’s eyes rose from the blood pooling on Wesley’s arm to Wesley’s eyes. “Stay with me Angel. I need you here.”

In slow motion, Angel bent his head, his mouth opening as Wesley repositioned his arm for comfort. He thought he might faint from the combined sensation, but he stuck to it, his free hand dropping the knife and stroking Angel’s hair and back as he fed. “That’s my good boy.”

Angel stopped drinking, his face changing back to that of a mortal man. He kissed Wesley then, and Wesley yielded beneath the touch, sinking to the floor until Wesley lay on his back with Angel beside him. Wesley broke the kiss for air, and felt the eyes of the others in the room. He was too tired to worry about their reactions. “I think I’m just going to pass out now,” he said, humor and exhaustion coloring his voice. Angel settled so that he was lying with his head on Wesley’s shoulder, seeming to fall asleep instantly. Wesley kissed his forehead and followed his example.

 

With the distinct impression that more than a few hours had passed, Wesley opened his eyes. The apartment was quiet. He was alone and in his bed. His wound from the knife had been bandaged and he was wearing a pair of flannel pajamas.

Angel was somewhere nearby. He was still fragile, but at the moment delighted. Wesley smiled and sat up. His head reeled a little and he knew the aches and fatigue would be with him for days. His feet found the floor and he foisted himself to them with a small effort. Every muscle held the memory of pain that no mortal man should ever have to endure…but endure he had. 

He stepped out of the bedroom into the brightly lit living room, squinting against the light. “Hey sleepyhead.” Willow’s voice greeted. She beamed at him over her coffee cup from her place on the couch. “We didn’t think you’d ever wake up.”

“How long?”

“Three days.” Fred responded.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I was beaten to death by very large clubs, actually,” he said, rubbing at his face. He looked around the apartment. The two girls were the only people in evidence, but he could still feel Angel. He looked to the nursery door, slightly ajar. He thought he could hear Connor.

“Cordelia brought Connor over yesterday.” Willow said, getting up. “Angel and Connor have been playing ever since.” Willow handed him a cup of coffee. “Gunn has taken Annanaan to a place of sanctuary, where she can adjust.”

“What about Buffy?” Wesley settled into the chair, cradling the coffee and savoring its warmth.

“Buffy…went to see Faith, and then home to Sunnydale.” Willow said, making a face. “She was a little weirded out.”

“Weirded out?” Then Wesley remembered the kiss, the feeding. “Oh, that. Yes.” He sipped at his coffee. “She’ll just have to adjust.”

Willow smiled. “She will. Meanwhile, I’m on a plane out of here in a few hours. We got word from Giles. He’s alive and on his way to Sunnydale with more potential slayers. I’m going to Las Vegas to pick up two more. Fred’s going to give me a lift.”

“Least I can do.” Fred smiled and then hid behind her coffee cup.

“Dada!” Connor came flying out of the bedroom and jumped at Wesley, almost getting the full cup of coffee down his back before Wesley managed to set it aside.

He hugged the squirming little body. He hadn’t realized how much he missed him in the last few days. So much of his life had been wrapped around Angel’s son in the last year. “Dada’s happy to see you, Connor.”

“He’s been asking for you since he got here.” Angel said, appearing at the nursery door. “You had us worried.”

Wesley smiled. “I think I’m going to be okay.” 

“I’m glad to hear that.” 

“Dada, is Ang staying?” Connor asked, touching Wesley’s face for attention.

“Well, we’ll have to work that out, won’t we. Would you like it if Angel stayed with us for a while?” 

Connor nodded enthusiastically. “I like Ang.”

“I do to.” Wesley agreed, looking up at the smiling vampire. “I like him a lot.”

“I think that’s our cue, Fred.” Willow said, standing. “Things are gonna get mushy, and I have a plane to catch.” She crossed to Angel and wrapped her arms around him. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“You too…and watch Buffy’s back.”

“I will.” Her hug for Wesley was less intense in deference to his pain. “You have a good thing here, Wesley. Take care of these two trouble makers.” She tousled Connor’s head. “This one’s going to be a handful.”

“Be careful…and if you need anything….”

“Only a phone call away. Same for you guys.” Willow shouldered her bag and gathered Fred with a wink. “Bye.”

As the door closed behind them, Angel and Wesley looked at one another. Angel was across the room and kissing Wesley before Wesley could even move to put Connor down. As the fervor passed and was replaced with something more tender, Wesley felt Connor’s hand on his face, then Connor was kissing them both where they’re faces came together. Wesley pulled back, laughing. 

It felt warm, safe. Wesley put his free arm around Angel, as Angel’s arms shifted to help support Connor. For the first time in weeks, Wesley felt like he could relax. He held Connor and Angel to him and let his head fall onto Angel’s shoulder. “I like the way this feels,” he whispered.

“Me too.” Angel whispered back.

Connor yawned and Wesley echoed him. Angel took Connor and stepped back. “He’s been up for almost 24 hours, waiting to see you. I’ll put him down for a nap.” He kissed Wesley lightly.

“A nap sounds divine.” Wesley said, yawning again.

“Go lay down.” Angel said, turning away. “I’ll join you, when he’s asleep.”

Wesley smiled and padded into the bedroom. So much of their time had been spent here in this room lately. Stifling yet another yawn, Wesley crawled into bed, migrating toward what he had come to think of as his side. He dozed off almost instantly, falling into a whirl of dreams. When Angel slipped into bed beside him, he slipped just as easily into Wesley’s dreams. All the dark memories, true ones and false ones seemed far away for the moment as they held one another. 

Later, as Wesley’s hand was caressing Angel’s back and Wesley’s cock was moving inside him, the tears came…unbidden, tears of relief, tears of a love he’d never thought would be realized. He came in a shuddering thrust, and collapsed beside Angel on the bed. It was Angel’s turn to hold him through the tears, kissing them away. As they drifted toward sleep, Angel whispered, “Thank you.”

Wesley didn’t need to ask to know it meant far more than simple thank you, he could feel it. Nor did he need to ask to know that Angel would be staying…more than a little while.


End file.
